


Love Thy Neighbor

by fitzsimmonsy, ruthedotcom



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Miscommunication, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzsimmonsy/pseuds/fitzsimmonsy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthedotcom/pseuds/ruthedotcom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two apartment neighbours think the other hates them - until they get trapped in an elevator together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ardentaislinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/gifts), [SuburbanSun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/gifts).



Fitz hadn't realized that he had fallen asleep on his notes until a harsh ring roused him from his slumber. He reached his arm out slowly, searching for the source of the nuisance amongst the papers. His fingers curled around his Android, ready to turn it off his morning alarm, when he realized he was getting a phone call. Who even called nowadays, and at 10am at that?

“Hello,” he said sleepily, bringing the cold phone to his face.

“Leopold Fitz.”

“Yes,” he said, feeling a bit annoyed. He didn't feel like rising from his slumped over position, as the desk was warm beneath him.

“Leopold Fi-“

“Yes,” he interrupted, louder this time.

The voice on the end of the line was as disinterested as ever. “We’re calling because we have a Mary Sue Poots here at the ER at Columbia Presbyterian, and she’s been in an accident, which is why…”

Fitz was suddenly much more awake. “What?” he sputtered, lifting his head off the desk, ignoring the paper stuck to his cheek “Is she ok? Is she…”

“Yes, sir. You’re her emergency contact, so we’d like you to come down and pick her up.”

Fitz nodded, then realized that of course they couldn’t see him nod, and followed up, “I”ll-I’ll-I’ll be down immediately.” He hoped they had heard him before they hung up.

He scrambled up, dragging his palms down the front of his button down, hoping to smooth out the creases from him sleeping toppled over his desk. While arranging the papers that had slid out of order underneath him, and grabbing his wallet and keys, he briefly considered changing. The thought of Skye alone at the hospital filled with worry and discomfort, though, and he sped out. He wondered for a moment why Skye had never actually legally changed her name from Mary Sue Poots. It must be challenging in these types of situations.

As he reached the middle of the hall, he considered taking the elevator, but decided to run down the stairs instead. The thought of getting stuck in those metal death traps filled him with dread. He knew that it was highly statistically unlikely and he should worry more about dying of heart disease. But irrational is as irrational does.

Instead of making a beeline immediately for the 1 train, he made a quick pitstop at the Hungarian Pastry Shop near their apartment. He’d need to pick up something for Skye. He was touched that she had listed him as an emergency contact. Though, the reason as to why made his stomach twist in grief. He pondered if he had always been her emergency contact, or if she had switched if after Ward...He shook the thought away as he paused for a moment in front of the glass of the shop. His reflection stared back at him  - unshaved with messy unwashed curls that made his hair look a much darker and dull brown, slope shouldered, and not as tall as he liked to think he was. It was a bit embarrassing, but he figured he was just going to hospital and the only person who'd see him there was Skye, and she'd seen him in worse condition anyway.

He went inside the shop - it was warm and humid, unlike the chill late September air outside. Despite its affinity amongst the Columbia University undergraduates, which he was trying to ignore now, he and Skye liked to hole up in there, eating way more goodies than should be allowed. He really needed to be more worried about heart disease. After waiting for way too long, he finally got two of Skye’s favorite double chocolate chip cookies. He's picked up a coffee for himself – a terrible one that only bore the name coffee for being caffeinated and hot. He preferred tea, of course, but he needed a little more oomph this morning to be able to properly take care of Skye later.

As he yawned, he reminded himself that really needed go to bed and stop falling asleep on his notes - it’d been the fifth time he’d done that in two weeks. The design of the delivery mechanism for this vaccine was really not coming to him, and the deadline was fast approaching. He really needed to be on his game - the only reason he could take any engineering contracts he wanted and work his own hours is because he could fix these problems. Not doing so would cost him his livelihood and lifestyle.  

It was probably _his neighbor's_  fault, he thought bitterly. _She_ would always run into him in the hall, make him look like an idiot and then judge him with those judgmental eyes of hers. And then, of course, thanks to her, he’d be feeling like an dimwit all day long. And that was really not conducive to being creative with his work. A voice in his head reminded him naggingly that his spite-fueled work sessions after encounters with her were actually more productive, but he ignored it.

Suddenly, he felt a tug at his hip and stopped. Lost in his thoughts, he had walked straight into the caution tape blocking his entrance into the subway station.  He backed away, pretending not to notice the odd looks from the people who'd witnessed his blunder. _Great_ , even just thinking about her made him look like a fool. The posted sign that he had walked right past indicated that the 1 train was down. Only express trains on the weekend.

Cursing rather violently under his breath, Fitz redirected himself towards the bus stop. He tried to focus on the new obstacle and his hatred of buses, to prevent his thoughts from drifting to _her_. Why, if she was so infuriating, did he keep thinking about her?

After a longer wait than was necessary, without any indication of when the next bus would arrive (this is why the subway was superior), the bus finally pulled in. It felt like every single person in front of him was taking their merry time to insert their Metro Card and board as slowly as possible. After what seemed like an eternity of bemoaning the system’s inefficiency, Fitz finally got on himself and inserted his card. _Beep!_  Insufficient balance.

Fitz felt the tips of his ears turning pink, as the entire bus’ population bore their eyes into him. It wasn't _that_ uncommon to run out of money on your card, he thought to himself, as he dug change out of his pocket. The bus driver accepted it with an annoyed look and Fitz scurried to the back.

Drinking coffee on the bus, particularly in the back of the bus, turned out to be a terrible mistake. At the first bump, the contents of the cup somehow managed to geyser out of the tiny drink hole, all over his already not very fresh clothes. Napkinless Fitz was left to try and dry the mess with his hands, leaving them sticky. He twisted his fingers in his lap anxiously - he hated it when he couldn’t have clean hands.

There was only on nurse on desk duty at the Emergency Room. She was clearly exalted to be there, her face in her hand, dejectedly and playing some kind of game on the computer.

“What are you here for?” she asked, without even looking up at him.

“I’m here to see Sk-Mary Sue Poots,” he stumbled over his words.

The nurse didn’t stop clicking at her game, and without turning to make eye contact, she mumbled up at him, “Great. I’ll have Betty take you to her immediately.”

Betty arrived in a manner that could not be described as immediately in any language, but Fitz suspected it was because of how long it took for the original nurse to let them know he was here.

Finally, at Skye’s room, he knocked lightly before pushing the door open to find Skye, smiling and resting. Though she was a bit pale, she still looked as lovely as ever, with her long hair splayed across the pillows propping up her back.

“Oh hey, Leopold,” she said brightly. “Thanks for _finally_ showing up.”

“Thank god,” he breathed in relief, so happy to see his friend well. So relieved he didn't grimace at the name Leopold. He stepped into the room, holding out the cookies when he stopped dead in his tracks.

 _She_ was sitting at the foot of Skye’s bed. He hadn't noticed her when he'd walked in, like the dolt he was.

Not noticing his deer-in-headlights expression, Skye beamed. “Guess who helped me out when I got hurt? _Our neighbor!_ I didn’t even know she was our neighbor! This city be cray, right?”

Fitz continued to gape as the petite girl sitting by Skye got up.  It was definitely her. She had the same pea coat with jumbo charcoal buttons that she’d started wearing when the weather got colder. And the grey and black sweater that he’d seen her in an awful lot. And the same wavy brown hair, that she tucked behind her ear as she rose to her feet.

“I believe we’ve met before?” she asked him softly. She extended her hand, which Fitz took slowly. Her lips clearly pursed into a disapproving look when she withdrew her cold, but soft, hand from his sticky one. And her brown eyes flitted over the stains and wrinkles in his outfit critically. If only the ground could have opened up and swallowed him whole, that would have been just fantastic.

“Simmons, is it?” he asked curtly.

“Oh, please, call me Jemma,” she replied politely. She looked at him eagerly as if she was waiting for him to follow up with something, not dropping her gaze. What exactly it was, he had no idea, and he dropped his hand back down to his side. She followed suit.

If Skye had noticed his awkwardness, she was clearly ignoring it. “Jemma’s a Ph.D. student at Columbia, did you know that?”

He did, but he shook his head 'no' anyway.

“Fitz, you’re an engineer?” Jemma followed up, to which he grunted. He didn’t know why his ability to be a normal human being had suddenly dissipated. But, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to find all his words now if he tried, and he’d rather nobody witness that. Why did this always happen with her around? She must think he was a total buffoon. He hated that.

Skye continued as if there was nothing wrong. “Well, little miss genius Jemma here couldn’t get her Smart Board to turn on during her session, so I was sent to fix the wiring. Good news - Jemma wasn’t wrong and there was something off with the wiring. Bad news - I must have done something to make it worse, because next thing I know I was on the floor with a wicked headache.”

“She was electrocuted,” Jemma explained when Fitz’s mouth opened; she patted Skye’s hand gently. “It was so awful. There was an exposed wire...”

Skye shook her head. “Eh, I’ve had worse. Lucky you were here! If I’m going to be electrocuted, I’d rather have a doctor in this house. Imagine that had happened at home - Fitz would have run around screaming before anything got done.” He narrowed his eyes, all but glaring at Skye. Great, just when he thought he couldn’t feel more stupid.

Jemma giggled. “Well then. I’m so glad I was there to help you!”

They were quiet for a moment, one person on either side of Skye, who seemed to just realize the undeniable awkwardness brewing between them. So Skye quickly changed the topic in the lull in conversation. “Is that for me?” She asked, nodding towards the small paper bag Fitz had in his hand. 

“Oh, yeah.” Fitz finally collected himself and handed the bag to Skye. “I got your favorite.”

“Awww, Fitzy, you didn’t have to.” The gusto with which Skye tore open the bag led Fitz to believe otherwise. He saw the burn marks on her hands as she did so, and he gulped, feeling foolish for being so displeased that Jemma was here when he should have been upset over how hurt his friend was.

A heavy silence settled onto the room, punctuated only by Skye’s happy chewing. Fitz looked up every now and again towards Jemma, only to find her looking earnestly at him every time. Which was a little frustrating. Maybe he didn’t have a topic of conversation! Why couldn’t she start one instead of looking at him like that? He decided to stare at his hands instead.

Luckily, the silence didn’t last long, cut short by the entrance of the doctor. Fitz stood up to greet him, but then instantly wished he hadn’t. Maybe if he remained sitting it wouldn’t be so painfully obvious how much smaller he was. Had they been magically transported into a medical drama? Why was the doctor so fit and attractive?

“How’s she doing, doctor?” Fitz spat out before he realized how weird of a question that was with Skye in the room. 

Skye threw her arms up in mock dismay. “I’m right here, man. And not dying." 

The doctor laughed good-naturedly, revealing a row of perfect pearly white teeth. “Oh, she’s fine. Girl’s a fighter,” he grinned. Fitz saw tinges of blush as Skye looked down, grinning wildly. Shocking.

The doctor walked around to where Jemma was, and a wrapped his large muscled arm around her.

"She's also great thanks to my girl Jemma here.” He smiled, giving her a small kiss on the top of the head as he squeezed her to him. Fitz looked down at his shoes, mouth opened in awkward embarrassment. A wave of nausea washed over Fitz all of a sudden and he sat back down. He probably shouldn’t have had just coffee on an empty stomach.

“Aww, Trip.” Jemma nudged him lightly as she grinned back.

 “Jemma and I met back when she was just a tiny volunteer EMT,” Trip explained to Skye and Fitz. “She always got people here in the best possible shape they could be. I’ve never seen anyone more precise.”

Fitz nodded solemnly, the nausea subsiding only slightly, while Skye nodeed in agreement.

Trip flipped a paper on his clipboard. “So, Mr. Fitz, you’re Skye’s…?”

Why would he want to know that? Oh right, he was the emergency contact. C’mon, Fitz. “Roommate. I’m her roommate." 

Skye looked mock offended again. “I’m just your roommate? What the hell, dude?” She looked over at Trip, “I’m also his best friend in the whole wide world, wing woman, and girl pal extraordinaire.”

Trip gave a hearty laugh and Fitz thought he saw the tension fall off Trip’s shoulders.

“Oh really?” Jemma asked, her voice a little squeaky. “I assumed you two were dating?”

“Me and Skye?” Fitz snorted. “In her dreams.”

“In MY dreams?!” Skye sputtered, “And excuse me, I’m the one sitting in the hospital bed here!” Skye swung her arm out to playfully smack Fitz. “I’m pretty sure that exempts me from teasing.”

“I don’t know, girl.” Trip flashed another smile and Fitz honestly thought he’d be blinded. “You look pretty healthy to me. I’ve never seen someone look so good after being electrocuted. You sure you’re not faking?”

 _Subtle._ Skye grinned, blushing wildly, and dropped her gaze,   

“Anyway,” Trip continued more seriously. “You’re free to go. I just wanted to make sure you had someone to take you home. I’d like you to come back for check up in a few days.”

“I’m sorry that you needed to be called down, Fitz," Jemma quickly added. "I would have taken Skye home myself, but I have a class starting soon. And, I have so many things to take care of now that the school year is in full swing. Plus, my PI at the Frank Lab, Ann Weaver, she’s so strict and --”    

“You work at the Frank Lab?” Fitz asked before he could stop himself. 

“Yes!” Jemma beamed. “I love it. We just published a paper on ‘Structural dynamics of ribosome subunit association…”

“--studied by mixing-spraying time-resolved cryo-EM,” Fitz finished, against his better judgment. 

“You read it?” Jemma asked incredulously. Why was she acting so surprised that he, too, knew things? “I didn’t realize engineers read biology papers.” Oh, _of course_. Academic elitism at its finest.

“Yeah. I’m the one who created the more precise electron microscopes your lab uses. I’m glad to hear you’ve been putting them to good use.”

“That was YOU?” Her face lit up. “I remember hearing about a Fitz, but I never put two and two together. I’d love to talk to you about your mechanism…”

Why was she pitying him? She didn’t need to talk to him about anything. He’d read her papers. All of them. She’d accumulated quite a few, now that she was on her _second_ Ph.D. She was way smarter than him and didn’t really need his input. Besides, the Fitz that had fixed those microscopes was no longer the Fitz that stood before her. She’d only be disappointed to find that out. He didn’t need her to think he was dumb too, on top of clumsy and filthy.

“Well, I-I- I mean, I have to take Skye home right now,” he cut her off, gesturing towards his roommate. “Can’t… stay,” he added, barely resisting the urge to smack himself.

“Oh,” she responded softly, tucking her hair behind her ear as she stepped back from him. “Right, of course.”

“Well then,” Skye piped up. “Let’s get out of here, Fitz. Now that you nerds are done talking science, I’d love to go home." 

“Yes, please get a lot of rest.” Trip quickly jotted down something on a piece of paper and handed it to Skye. “If you’re feeling badly at any point this week, please feel free to give me a call at any time. Or, you know, just if you feel like it.” He gave a small wink.

Skye clutched the paper for a moment, seemingly fumbling for words, but then replied as if he hadn’t caught her off guard, “Sounds good, doc.”

Jemma grasped Skye’s hand. For a moment, Fitz almost wished that she didn’t find him such a bumbling fool. She was so gentle and kind towards Skye; it might have been nice if the two of them could have gotten along. “Please, if you need anything, I’m right next door. Don’t hesitate to get me."

 Skye squeezed her hand, “It was really nice getting to know you, Jemma. I’m looking forward to hanging out. We’re definitely going to have you over for Mario Kart some time.” Skye raised an eyebrow and looked over at Trip, “And you too, if you play your cards right.”

Fitz was too stunned at the thought of Jemma in his apartment to pay any more attention to the flirting between Skye and the doctor.

“Alright then,” Trip was saying when Fitz snapped back into the conversation. “I’ll leave your discharge papers with the nurse. Feel better, Skye.”

“Yes, please get a lot of rest!” continued Jemma, and gathered her belongings. “Nice to see you again, Fitz,” she called nicely as she stepped out of the room.

 Fitz wasn’t sure if he replied.

Skye cast an accusing glance on him the moment the door was closed. “What the hell was that?”

“What?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“You were totally weird around Jemma. Like, I get she’s a pretty girl…”

“That has nothing to do with it,” he snapped.

“Well, then what is it? I’m not blind. You were _way_ weird.”

Fitz reddened. “Nothing, it’s nothing… I just… I don’t think we ever got on.” When Skye cast him an unamused glare, he sighed. “I met her once in the laundry room when she moved in. We talked a bit and I was having, well, you know, _trouble_ and she kept trying to finish my sentences and correct me.” He grimaced. “She treated me like a complete fool, as if I had no idea what I was talking about.”   

Skye continued to eye him suspiciously. “I dunno, I don’t think she meant it rudely. I've noticed she kind of finishes everyone sentences. I think you guys would get along. She’s really into science-y stuff and that’s totally your thing and…”

“Skye,” he cut her off, feeling a headache building up in his skull. He pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve the pressure. “You know that I’m not really… I can’t compare-I can’t talk science like I used to.”  

When he saw the look of pity on Skye’s face, he knew he wanted to make sure more of it didn’t come out of her mouth. “It’s fine if you’re friends with Simmons. She seems... nice. You should definitely spend time with her. It’s just – not for me.” 

Skye nodded slowly, getting out of bed. She motioned for him to turn around so she could change out of her hospital gown.

“Whatever you say, Fitz.” He didn't need to see the expression on her face to know what it looked like.

"All done," she told her. When he turned around, he found her eyeing her hands, as she adjusted her bag. 

“Fitz.” Skye looked up at him, her expression pained. “You don’t think Trip will be grossed out by my hands?” She stretched them out in front of her, frowning.

His eyes grew wide, jaw dropping. “What, no?”

Skye barely contained a sniffle. “It’s just… I….”

“Whoa, hey. Don't do that.” He quickly engulfed her in a hug, hoping to offer some reassurance. “It’s going to heal and they’ll be just as great as ever. They might be a bit different, but there’s nothing wrong with that. What matters is you’ll still hack into anything, as long as it's not my laptop.” He gave her a reaffirming squeeze before letting her go.

Drying her eyes, Skye smiled. “He was pretty hot though, wasn’t he?”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “So how much pain medicine DID they give you?”


	2. Chapter 2

It was Saturday.

Normally, he’d be sitting all day—Sat-your-day, Skye liked to call them—but he went in to work with Donnie instead. His head was throbbing from overexertion, but he spent all his spare change the other day to catch a bus to the hospital and couldn’t get his normal dose of junk food to curve the pain for a bit until he got home. He stumbled up the stairs of his apartment building, thinking about sleep and quiet, grumbling when he noticed a box sitting outside the door. His tolerance for Skye’s laziness was normally pretty high, but he found out that today was anything but normal.

He opened the door with one hand and shuffled forward, pushing the box into the apartment with the tips of his shoes. Keep Refrigerated, it read at the top, and he groaned dramatically the entire time he had to lean down and go put it in its place. It was mostly for show, though—he stopped and listened after he shut the door to the fridge, but there was nothing to hear.

“Skye?” he called out.

Nothing.

Well, this was turning out to be an incredibly abnormal day, with both of them disregarding the sacrecy of Sat-your-day. But at least it was quiet, he figured, and he slumped to his room and flopped onto the bed in seconds. He swallowed something for his head, and when the pain started to dull out, he grabbed his headphones and tried to ignore his head throbbing to the beat of the music. The next time he looked at his phone, there was a text from Skye.

_Hey, I’ll be back soon, I’m getting a check up at the hospital._

He couldn’t stop the shivers that ran up his spine at that, his headache somehow deciding to transition into a full blown migraine when he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Skye’s hospital visits, and what the last one entailed.

Namely, Jemma Simmons.

 _You were way weird,_ Skye had told him, and even though she’d shut up about it, her knowing glances the next couple of days felt worse than her actually repeating those words to him. Because he had a feeling she knew his weirdness had very little to do with anything _she_ did, but what she made _him_ do. Which, apparently, was become a total idiot in more ways than one.

For one thing, he couldn’t talk around her. The first time they’d met, she’d been reading a brick of a book that turned out to be some scientific inquiry of monkeys. And although he didn’t know much about a lot of biology things, he knew about monkeys. Except, apparently, when Jemma Simmons was around and finishing his sentences before he could even think of one. He’d ended up being an awful garbled mess and tripping over finishing his laundry.

And he always -- always, without fail-- seemed to be a total mess around her. The coffee on his shirt seemed to be the least of his embarrassing moments. Oh, God, she’d even been there when he’d opened up the cabinet and a mop had fallen out and he’d screeched on the top of his lungs and she’d hidden her laugh behind her hand.

Basically, he felt like a total joke whenever she was around. And he’d spent enough time being the butt of the joke for his life, and he didn’t need anything to make him feel useless anymore.

But, God, someone seriously needed to find a way to erase memories soon, or he’d resort to hypnosis. He shoved his face into his pillow when he kept thinking of encounters with her without his permission. It was not helping his headache in the least.

He must have passed out from angrily blocking his train of thoughts, because the next time he stirred, his headphones were tangled around his arm and the squeak of his door woke him up.

“—go to my place—oh!”

Fitz opened one eye sleepily and glanced over to the threshold of his room, and both eyes snapped open when he realized who was standing at the door—

“Wha—umf!” He’d sat up too quickly and his legs were still tangled with his sheets, so he all but toppled forward and out of the bed, smacking into the ground and various other goodies lying around—namely, screws and pencils and wrappers. And his pride.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jemma Simmons said. Yes, he’s blinked a few times and it was actually her, and she was still there in his doorway, brown eyes and curly hair and jaw slacked open, obviously as surprised to see him as he was of her. His stomach sunk in on itself, and the hair on the back of his neck stuck up when they made eye contact.

“Jesus, don’t you knock first?” he snapped after a moment, red faced, rubbing his elbow from where it hit the ground. All the flailing was making his headache come back with a vengeance. “I could have been—“

“I apologize, I thought it was the bathroom and I—“

“—sleeping, or changing, or—“

“—didn’t mean to interrupt, really—“

“—or working, or something—“

“—and I told Skye that I—“

“Did someone say my name? Oh, no, Jemma, that’s Fitz’ room!” Skye called from what Fitz can only assume to be the living room. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, as he pulled himself up by the sheets to sit on the edge of the bed. A little too late for that, Skye.

“Yes, I can see that,” Jemma replied, and he watched her take in the room. Her nose scrunched up as she did, and he could almost see her physically judging him.

“Bathroom’s that way,” he said as he pointed, the words coming out as harsh as he’d hoped. Simmons visibly jumped up at that, and caught his eyes for a split second.

“Right, sorry,” she added, and then quickly swung the door shut.

Except it was like a living nightmare, all his miserable musing from an hour ago smacking him in the face. Ugh. He muttered obscenities under his breath as he straightened himself out and kicked his sheets back onto the bed. It was really not that messy in there… He just hasn’t been around much to clean out the trash. And do his laundry. And organize his notes. Whatever.

“Skye,” he whispered, glancing back towards the bathroom as he creeps into the living room, “what’s she doing here? Did her toilet break, or—” Fitz turned his head and noticed that Skye wasn’t alone. She sat rather closely to someone on the couch, but her head was blocking his view, so he stopped short in the middle of the hallway. “Uh, hi.”

Skye twisted back to look at him, beaming. “Hey, Fitz! You remember Trip from like, three days ago,” she said pressing into the couch and voila, it was indeed the really ridiculously fit bloke from the hospital, shiny white teeth and an unnecessary amount of shoulder muscles and all. Well, Skye was definitely not smiling like that because of Fitz. “I went in for a checkup, and Trip was there and his shift was ending, so,” she said with a shrug. “I just decided to invite him over. And we caught Jemma in the hallway and I figured, the more the merrier.”

Oh, no. He knew that look and this situation. Skye was going to force him to socialize. And with Jemma Simmons.

  
\------

  
In the time that she had been at Skye’s apartment, she managed to do the one thing she had hoped to avoid: annoy Leopold Fitz.

Not just when she’d accidentally barged into his room, but when she’d finished up in the loo and came out into the living room again. The only really available seat was next to him, but something about the way he was closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose made it pretty clear that the seat was taken. So she opted to sit on a stool at the bar behind where Skye and Trip were sitting.

They’d been pretty persistent about having her come along when they’d bumped into her in the elevator. And as most of her Saturday plans consisted of sitting around and waiting for a package to arrive (which, considering it was this late and there wasn’t one in front of her door when they passed by it, that meant waiting around for nothing), she decided to accept their invitation, whether she really had a choice or not.

It was just really hard to forget who Skye’s roommate was when the first door she opened to get to the loo revealed a bed-head Fitz. And it’d been pretty much downhill from there. She was sitting behind two people who very clearly wanted to be alone, and she couldn’t help feeling like she was intruding on everyone there.

“So,” Trip eventually said, keeping up with the small talk. “How did you and Fitz end up living together, anyway?”

Skye shot a look in Fitz’s direction for a split second before shifting back to face Trip. “This was his place, originally. His old roommate moved out, and… well, I couldn’t wait to live with Fitzy.” She paused and looked over at Fitz again, who was slumped in on the couch and picking at his fingers. “And then I beat him at Mario Kart to get the room with a view.”

Fitz huffed, catching Skye’s eye. “That was a seriously rigged game, you clicked start when I had to use the loo—“

“He has to pee every ten minutes,” Skye explained, turning toward Jemma and ignoring Fitz entirely. “So it worked out with him being next to the bathroom.”

Trip let out a bark of laughter. Jemma smiled, and when she sneaked a look over to Fitz, who was back to playing with his hands, she thought she can just make out a bit of a smirk. Which is huge, considering he seemed to be in permanent stone face mode. From the interactions that she’s had with him on the floor, she wasn’t sure he knew there was such a thing as a smile.

“Technically, that was the empty room, anyway,” Fitz added.

“Schematics,” Skye replied, waving a hand in the air, at the same moment Trip asked, “so how long have you been living here? It’s a great place.”

“Three years,” Fitz said, and then pointed to Skye. “Eight months.” He said it so nonchalantly, and the way he let out a breath makes it seem like he’s almost annoyed with the question. Either that, or annoyed with talking.

That didn’t phase Trip in the slightest. “What about you, Jemma?”

She snapped her head back to Trip. “Hmm?”

“How long have you lived in this building?” Trip reiterated.

“Oh. I’d say about a year now,” Jemma answered, nodding to herself. “Yes, it’ll be a year in about a month.”

“And this is your first time being over here?”

“Yes, officially,” Jemma said, nodding to herself.

Trip clucked his tongue and looked at Skye, almost disapprovingly.

“What?” Skye said, alarmed.

“Seems like you’ve got some mean neighbors,” Trip replied, talking directly to Jemma and ignoring when Skye shoved at his arm.

“Hey! In my defense, I haven’t been here all that long -- like Fitz said. And he told me that the last guy who lived in her apartment was some old creepy dude who missed his death by centuries. I would have definitely talked to Jemma if I’d known it was her.”

“Come on, girl, you know I’m just playin’,” Trip told her, and chuckled again when Skye poked his side for good measure. Skye looked up at Jemma and tilted her head to the side.

“Yeah, but I don’t know why it’s taken so long to finally meet you, Jemma,” she said. “I’m sorry for being such lame neighbor.”

“Oh, no. If anything, I was here before you, I should have reached out first,” Jemma insisted, but Skye waved her hand to stop her.

“It’s fine, Jemma. We’ve met now and that’s good.” She beamed at her and Jemma tried to return the smile as best she could.

Truthfully, she was thankful Skye stopped her, regardless of the fact that she knew she was right and felt guilty about it. She knew why she hadn’t come over, and coming over just solidified her fears-- she’d annoy Skye’s roommate. The one who, at that point, was rubbing his knuckles against his chin and generally ignoring the other three people in the room. Something told her it had little to do with Skye and Trip, though.

“So, what do you guys want to do?” Trip was saying when Jemma started listening again. “Fitz? Any ideas?”

The question obviously surprised him; he sat up for a moment before shrugging and slinking back down. “Sit, I guess,” he mumbled, one corner of his mouth quirking up which made Skye laugh for whatever reason.

“We could go out and party and get super drunk and feel gross the next day…. Or we could play Mario Kart, I guess?” Skye shrugged, amused at her own loaded question, then leaned forward to grab the wii controller off the coffee table and wave it in Trip’s face.

“As if that’s actually a question,” he said dramatically, and reached for the other one. Trip caught Fitz’ eyes and tossed him a controller just as Skye leaned back and reached over the back of the couch, holding out the fourth controller to Jemma.

“Oh, no, I—I should be going, I’m actually—“

“Come on, Jemma!” Trip pleaded, “you can’t be all work and no play, girl.”

“It’s just, I’m waiting for something,” Jemma said, but no one could hear her from the way Skye was bouncing and insisting, “please please please please.”

Which is why, although never exactly saying yes, Jemma somehow ended up picking a character and playing the game, anyway. Well, sort of. The real game was trying to not to get too distracted by Skye and Trip unabashedly flirting with each other, knocking elbows and screeching at each other whenever something happened (and it seemed that something was always happening). They’d almost gotten through an entire tournament, and the only reason she wasn’t in last place was because Skye tried to steal Trip’s controller and they both ignored the race in their tug-a-war match.

The truth was, she liked Skye. She’d seen her around the apartment building a couple of times, but usually she was going when Skye was coming, or vice versa. And it was really just dumb luck that Jemma had needed help with the Smart Board and Skye was the one the tech center sent down to help, and they finally met. Good luck, Jemma decided, at least from her point of view. Skye was fun and sweet and didn’t give her weird looks when she went on tangents about things. Jemma planned on keeping her around.

And then there was Fitz. Right then, he was sinking into the back of the couch, slumped forward so low, his shoulders were by his ears. How someone so cheerful and lively like Skye could live with someone so straight faced was completely beyond her. But apparently, her winning the Mario Kart game was total luck the first time, because Fitz ended up winning the tournament by a landslide.

She was surprised, though, when Trip called a rematch—“no tomfoolery this time, loser buys a round of drinks”—and Fitz stuck around, especially when he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was physically in pain from being around people right now. She didn’t know whether to be concerned or to scoff, so she focused on not losing instead (and maybe watching Trip and Skye some more, too).

(Unfortunately for her, though, they both settled down for this round. Her wallet was in big trouble.)

“Hey, girl,” Trip said after a while, glancing over at Skye, who peeked at him with a smile.

“What? Don’t try and distract me, because I will own you at this.”

Trip laughed, and Skye’s attempt at keeping a straight face completely failed. She shook her head with laughter while starting to shake her controller rapidly as her character soared through the sky. “No, I was wondering,” Trip said eventually.

“Yeah?”

Jemma had to remind herself to keep her eyes on the TV and not the way those two looked at each other. She was so glad she was sitting behind them at the bar, where she could ogle at them without being noticed.

“Halloween’s coming up,” he explained.

“--in a few weeks,” Skye argued.

\--“and I was thinking I could go as Bruno Mars and you could go just the way you are.”

A collective groan rang through the apartment, and Skye nudged him with her elbow while Jemma tried not to buckle over in laughter. But then Trip gave a, “ah ha!,” grinning in victory when his character crossed the finish line just nanoseconds before Skye’s. Jemma (who was still half a lap behind, when did she get so behind? If Trip’s plan was to be distracting, he definitely succeeded) bit her lip to keep herself from squealing when she notices their hands brushing when they set their controllers down on the space in between them.

“How romantic,” Skye cooed dramatically, “a regular Shakespeare.”

Trip had his mouth open to retort, but there was a scoff from the other couch and Jemma turned to look at Fitz, surprised that he was actually standing, and even more stunned when he started walking towards her. “Shakespeare’s a total perv,” he muttered and strolled right into the kitchen.

“Wha—Oh, shut up,” Skye told him, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, okay,” she continued when Fitz opened his mouth, “I know he talks about sex a lot, but he also—“

“No, I’m talking about his… uh, his name. His name is literally … a perv name. Shakespeare.” He leaned over the counter to talk to Skye, and Jemma tried not to visibly freeze up when he got close. “Shakes. Speare,” he followed up. “Heh?” He tilted his head at Skye with a knowing look, who shook her head and rolled her eyes again.

Trip, though, nodded along thoughtfully, until Skye poked him in the side again. “That’s his name, genius.”

“Built in perv,” Fitz supplied, turning around and swinging the fridge open, and Jemma was not looking at his butt. “A lot of clas-- cla-- old literature writers are built in pervs. For example—Thomas _Hardy_.”

“Henry _Longfellow_ ,” Jemma piped up without thinking about it, looking up at the ceiling.

“Charles _Dickens_.”

“E.E. _Cummings_.”

She waited for him to think of another one, mentally going down a list of names (would Oscar Wilde work? No, that’s stretching it too much), when she realized that it was completely silent. She looked down and saw that Skye and Trip were exchanging a look, but it wasn’t a flirty or sultry one anymore; their eyebrows were raised and their eyes were wide open, and when Skye caught Jemma staring at her, Jemma wasn’t sure what exactly her face looked like right then, but it made Skye laugh.

Jemma didn’t understand what was quite so funny, but she was grinning regardless. She turned around to hide her face from the other two, but her smile faltered when she caught Fitz’s eyes. He was just… staring at her. Blank faced. Mouth as open as the fridge door. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, and dropped her eyes, locking them on the open fridge instead.

Except her gaze fell on a package on the second shelf with her name on it.

“Fitz?”

It was the first time she really used his name, at least to speak directly to him, and she wasn’t sure if there was some weird boundary that she was stepping on. He looked over his shoulder at her for a split second before turning back around and facing the fridge, keeping his hands on his hips. “Uh—yeah? I mean… what?”

“I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” she started, hesitating when he made no other movement, “but… is that—why is there a box in your refrigerator with my name on it?”

Fitz whirled around at that, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Come again?”

Jemma pointed to the box. “That one in there, it says—” but she didn’t finish before he had swooped down and picked up the package, examining the words.

“Dr… Nugent?” he said, flipping the box around.

“What?” Jemma said, tilting her head to try and read the words better. She leaned over the counter as much as she could, pointing frantically—“no, no, that’s my name. Jemma Simmons, see? J-E-M-M—“

“I know how to spell,” he said flatly, and then held the box out to her. She looked up at him just as he was pinching the bridge of his nose again, sighing. “But do you…” he was muttering when she took the box out of his hand.

“What?” she snapped, and he must have heard the abrupt change of tone in her voice because he dropped his hand from his face and gazed at her in cautious surprise. “Can I spell?” she insisted, placing the package on the bar in front of her, placing her finger exactly where her name was written. She wanted to ask him if he could read (Dr. Nugent. What kind of name was that?), but bit her tongue instead. She had to pick her battles....Although, she could see how he had read that name instead of her own. She really needed to work on her handwriting.

Fitz stared at her for a few moments, mouth opening and closing, and then shrugged. “Well, all I’m saying is if your spelling sent the package over here… Look,” he continued, and pointed to the other side of the package. “It says 89 on the box, and... This is apartment 89. You sure you know where you live?”

For a second there, Jemma could almost pretend he was teasing and not smirking at her because he’d proved his point and was being a total jackass about it. She turned the box around and noted that, alright, the ‘7’ with a little dash through it might look like an awkward ‘9’ to some, but he didn’t need to be so smug about it. Her name was on it, regardless.

“And you didn’t open the package to see what was inside and immediately notice that it’s not something you ordered?” she asked then, narrowing her eyes at him.

All he did was shrug again, and shuffle around in the kitchen, reaching into a cabinet to pull out a glass. “No, it wasn’t mine. Figured it was Skye’s.”

“What? Stop talking about me, you guys,” Skye called from behind them.

“We’re talking about your package,” Fitz told her, rolling his eyes.

“What package? I didn’t go in my room yet,” Skye said half heartedly, elbowing Trip in the side again as they played another match.

“No, I put it in the fridge,” Fitz said, and Jemma noted the distinct shift in his stance, how he tensed up and looked down at the package in front of her with a calculating look.

“What? Hold on, Trip, pause,” Skye said, and Jemma turned around as Skye jumps on the couch until she’s facing them, folding her arms on the top of the couch and resting her chin on her hands. “What package that you had to put in the fridge? I didn’t order anything that needs to be refrigerated? That’s weird?”

Jemma held the package out to Skye, who turned it in her hands. “Fitz, this has Jemma’s—“

“—name on it, yes, I see that now,” Fitz muttered, ducking back into the fridge.

Jemma glanced back at Skye, but Skye was watching Fitz. She opened her mouth, but Trip cut her off before she could say anything.

“Yeah, that is weird. What’s in the box, Jem?” he asked, shifting around until he was elbow to elbow with Skye, grinning at her from the corner of his eye.

“It’s actually some cat liver—“ Jemma started, but everyone jumped in alarm, their attention back to Fitz, who seemed to have just spit up his water all over the kitchen floor.

“Cat liver?” he managed to shriek, placing his cup on the counter to free both hands to run through his hair. “There’s an actual cat liver in that box? That was sitting next to my _lunch_?”

Jemma shook her head frantically, waving her hands in front of her, too. “No, no, it’s not the liver itself, it’s the essence—just vials of the protein molecules from –“

“—from an actual cat liver?” he finished, gasping horribly at her.

“Yes, technically,” she allowed, “the cat liver vial samples did come… from an actual cat liver, obviously, but there’s no—“

“That’s disgusting,” he said, scrunching up his face before Jemma could further explain.

“Fitz,” Skye chastised.

“Yeah, okay,” he told her, shaking his head. “I’m-- I’m sorry.” It seemed to surprise him to see three people staring at him, because he backed up a bit and then shook his head. “I don’t feel… like, uh, like playing anymore. I’m going to my room,” he told them as he made his way back over and down the hall.

She could sense Trip and Skye turning their heads to follow him, but kept her gaze locked on the counter instead.

“Alright, it’s cool man,” Trip said easily, “I’ll beat you next time.”

“Uh,” Fitz faltered, hesitating in the threshold of his room, “sure,” before heading inside and closing the door.

It was another moment before Jemma noticed the silence, and hoped the other two were staring at each other and not her, but it wouldn’t be her luck right then. So, really, she wasn’t all that surprised when Skye was giving her an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, Jemma,” Skye said, putting her hand on Jemma’s shoulder. “He’s being a total goober right now, I think he’s not feeling well.”

 _Yes, he seems to be allergic to_ me, she thought, but nodded back anyway. “It’s not really cat liver,” she said, feeling like she had to explain herself. “I mean, it is, but it’s just the protein structure, and I—I just needed samples for a personal project I’m working on, it’s not—it wouldn’t harm anyone, being in the fridge—“

“No, no, of course not, Jemma,” Skye told her, “Fitz is just a big baby when it comes to body stuff.”

“I’m sure you weren’t trying to kill Skye’s roommate,” Trip piped up, and Jemma let out a squeak at that.

“Right,” she managed, and gave a small smile. _Except that’s probably what he thinks I’m trying to do_ , she mentally added, sighing. Apparently the two of them just couldn’t hang out with one another without total disaster happening. The tentative interactions between them on elevators was as good as they got, and those were awkward at best. “It’s alright, Skye,” she continued, “I need to get back before my roommate does and eats everything in sight anyway.”

“You sure?” Skye asked, almost grimacing.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jemma assured her.

"Alright, but we're gonna have to put a rain check on those drinks, Jemma," Trip told her in mock seriousness.

"Of course," Jemma allowed, wondering if she should salute him and thinking better of it at the last second. She got up and patted Trip on the shoulder as she walked by before they could say anything else.

She was opening her door when she realized she’d forgotten the cat liver again. Sighing to herself, she almost contemplated leaving it there overnight, but she figured that no one needed to relive the previous episode again and turned back around to go get it.

The door was still slightly ajar, and Skye and Trip were murmuring to each other, barely over a whisper. Maybe that was why she paused at the door instead of knocking.

“So, what’s the real reason you moved in with Fitz?” Trip was asking.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Skye. There’s a reason you put him on your emergency contact list. And you hesitated earlier.”

Notes of nervousness laced Skye’s laugh. “What? You didn’t believe me when I said he was my best friend?”

Trip laughed, and Jemma imagined him shaking his head. “Look,” he said, and it was oddly serious. “I don’t want to pry. Your business is your business. I just thought you might want someone to share with.”

“Okay, but, you gotta promise me that you won’t tell Fitz, okay? I have enough trouble keeping him together sometimes.”

Even Jemma’s heart rate sped up as Trip said, “You can trust me, girl.”

“Well, I don’t know if you can tell but Fitz… well… Fitz has trouble sometimes finding words. And.. it’s my fault.” Her voice broke just a little at the end, and Jemma pushed the door open a little more in any attempt to catch their expressions.

She saw Trip placing a comforting hand on her back. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is, though,” Skye insisted, her voice an octave higher, then quickly lowered her tone again. “I suggested he be friends with the douchebag. That he was a nice guy and Fitz just needed to trust him.”

“What did he do?”

Even Jemma could see the tears in Skye’s eyes from here. “Fitz… he was like… the best engineer. He designed some really cool camera to check out the ocean floor. But, something happened and it malfunctioned. They asked him to go down there to fix it - he was the only one who could. Fitz took scuba lessons for ages, he was so scared.” Skye sniffled, but then continued. “Ward, was my bo-he was my friend, and he worked all sorts of security things and was great at this type of stuff and I told Fitz to hire him. Take him with him on the job. I pushed Fitz into being friends with him in the first place too, so it wasn’t hard to convince him.”

“I still don’t see how this is your fault.”

“He abandoned him!” Skye lost control of her voice again, “Something happened to the pod they lowered them in, and Fitz got stuck. And Ward just…left him there. Didn’t even try and help.”

Trip pulled Skye into a hug. “Fitz survived, they got him out, but he suffered permanent brain damage. He… he would barely talk for months. I came by all the time and he’d rarely open the door for me. The apartment was a mess. It just… it was awful.”

“So, how’d you get him to let you move in?”

Skye pulled away, folding her hands in her lap, and looking intently down.

“I told him my finances were in trouble. That I couldn’t afford to live on my own and I didn’t want to live in a shelter.”

“I take it that’s not true at all?”

Skye shook her head. “I do well by myself, but Fitz would never have let me move in if I tried to just tell him I wanted to.”

Trip grinned. “What a funny little man.”

“Ha, yeah.” Skye let out a small laugh. “It just killed me to see him the way he was. It’s still hard. Sometimes, he’s just like the old Fitz, and sometimes…” Her eyes were shining again. “I wish you knew him before, you know? He was always really cheerful. I mean, he was never super secure but he had his smarts, you know? It gave him something. I mean, he’s still as brilliant as he ever was, if not more, but he doesn’t think he is. He gets irritated now, doesn’t like people trying to help. I dunno.”

“That’s not on you though. You’ve done so much to take care of him.”

“I wish I never introduced him to Ward. He really loved Ward. He never really got on with guys, and Ward was so not the type he was usually friends with, and I….”

“It’s not your fault,” Trip repeated. “And from what I can see, Fitz just needs some space. No one can fix him except himself. And maybe he just…” Trip leaned forward to whisper in Skye’s ear, and whatever it was made her laugh. Jemma tried to slip in as much as she could to hear, but apparently she was putting too much weight on the door, and it swung open.

“Oh!” Jemma straightened up before she topples over. “I’m so sorry. I forgot my--” she pointed to the box.

“Sure thing, Jemma!” Skye told her, smiling. She turned her head away for a moment and wiped at her face, and Jemma pretended not to notice. Trip gave her a wave and a hello, but she grabbed the box as quickly as possible and was out before they could suspect her.

After putting her protein samples away properly, and checked her phone for anything from Bobbi-- nothing, of course, she wasn’t supposed to be around for another week and a half -- she tried not to think too much about what she’d just heard. It made sense, though-- why Fitz always seemed more on edge with her whenever she was trying to finish his sentences or supply his words. But even when she didn’t, he still snapped at her, so maybe it really was just her.

But, she reminded herself, nobody hated Jemma Simmons. Nobody. Not even Leopold Fitz. And now, now she had new approach. Maybe she could at least get them to friendly neighbors. She didn’t want more. Not really. Just to make him stop hating her.


	3. Chapter 3

Having thought of a new approach and setting one into motion, however, were two very different things. And, it was complicated by the fact that they couldn’t ignore each other anymore. Before, when Jemma would bump into Fitz in the elevator on busy mornings, they’d exchange quick, nonverbal greetings before shuffling off into their own sides of the elevator until he let her get out first.

But it was different now, somehow. At least, Jemma couldn’t pretend she didn’t know he had a stuffed giant monkey in the corner of his bedroom, or that he walked around with his hands on his hips most of the time for some odd reason. She just couldn’t.

But that also didn’t mean she knew how to talk to him. Dumping helpful advice on people was just how she operated, and not being able to help someone who clearly wanted and needed it, but also didn’t at all, was a very frustrating conundrum.

For the first few days after _the incident_ , she chose to focus exclusively on Skye. Maybe watching how Skye interacted with Fitz would help her streamline her change of plan. There were moments when she wondered if perhaps it was a bit unhealthy to focus so much on getting a neighbor to stop hating her, especially when she had things like student papers, her own papers, research results, presentations and so much more to deal with. And, the whole “what was she going to do with her future now that she was going to be finishing her second Ph.D thing” too. But if she was going to be friends with Skye, it was probably best to be on good terms with Skye’s best friend and roommate, right? It wasn’t a fruitless task.

Unfortunately, Skye wasn’t too helpful to her because Fitz was never around when Jemma was over. Skye’s surprise over the matter only solidified her belief that he was definitely avoiding her, but Jemma swallowed her bitter disappointment by focusing on helping Skye prepare for the GED.

“I didn’t drop out of high school because it was hard,” Skye explained sheepishly, when she was showing her study plans to Jemma.

Jemma smiled and shook her head, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Skye. I think it’s really good of you to pursue this.”

Skye nodded. “Thanks. I’d really like to get my diploma, maybe take some college classes when this is cleared. As much fun as it is, I don’t really want to be electrocuted every time a TA can’t get their Smart Board to work.

“So, if you could help me just study for the math and science portions, that’d be really super. And you know, make sure my essays aren’t shit, with your proper English and all. Just don’t add ‘u’s into everything, ok?”

Jemma pursed her lips. “I’ll help you study, but I will definitely be recommending a certain approach. No plain old memorization. You’ll love math and science if I teach you all the principles thoroughly…”

Probably getting wind of where Jemma was headed with this, Skye snatched her work from Jemma. “Do not even think about it.”

She pouted slightly. “But I can create a perfect curriculum for you, Skye! Teach you everything you missed!”

Skye waved her hands frantically in Jemma’s face. “Oh, no, you don’t. I invented the sad puppy dog face and it will not work on me.” She narrowed her eyes at Jemma and leaned in so much Jemma started to bend backwards so their heads wouldn’t smack. “Well,” Skye said eventually, sitting back up. “Actually, Jemma, in all honesty, if you’re being serious… this might be a good idea. I’d really like to learn the things I missed out on, and Trip’s a doctor so…”

Jemma tightened her lips from preventing herself from grinning wildly. Two people making each other better than they were before - that’s what true relationships were made of. It made her heart swell with joy for Skye and Trip.

“Of course I’ll help you, Skye. I’d love to.”

“Excellent. I like the premise of this movie already. Super strict hot British teacher meets equally hot American slacker student. Together, they learn about friendship, and both get really hot guys in the end.” Skye chuckled, “Movie will do so well I won’t have to take your class since I’ll be loaded.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile.

The jangling of the door lock interrupted their thoughts, and within a moment, after some muffled curses, the door burst open. A very haggard looking Fitz trudged through the door and then noticeably froze when he saw the girls on couch. Great. It was really her that bothered him.  

Skye didn’t seem to notice Fitz freezing, or Jemma shifting uncomfortable beside her. “Where the hell have you been, Leopold?”

Fitz groaned. “You know I was away on a project, Skye. And then I always do the after school program on Tuesday nights.” Jemma fidgeted. His voice was steady and normal, but his shoulders were up and stiff, and he had an anxious tightness around his eyes, which were trained directly on Skye, not even flitting over in Jemma’s direction.

Skye leaned over to fill Jemma in. “He teaches physics to underprivileged kids, isn’t he a doll?”

Fitz turned a shade a red that would make beets envious. He mumbled something under his breath, but Jemma didn’t catch it. Then, after a throat clear, it seemed he regained his voice. “It’s just a shame that they teach so much to the test here. I have to do undo what they’re taught in school. Not very efficient at all. Besides, I think they’d really love science if they were taught understanding, instead of memorization. You can’t memorize science.” He let out a half-hearted laugh at the end.

Jemma stiffened, pretending not to notice Skye’s meaningful glance on her. Because, really, this wasn’t an uncommon opinion to have. It wasn’t odd for her and Fitz, both science prodigies, to share said opinion. Skye really needed to stop looking at her like that. She didn't want to think about it.

Jemma heaved a sigh as Fitz suddenly began muttering some excuse and fled to him room. It seemed he didn’t like his sentences being finished, but also long periods of prolonged silence scared him away. A new data point for her. But hearing about his volunteer activities made her even more determined to be nice to him. Friendly, even. They could be friends, right?

\----

However, he was more elusive than she thought. She’d been over at their place almost every day the week since she caught Fitz in the apartment, and still the only time she managed to see him after that for more than five seconds was in the mornings when they were both leaving. Well, she’d have to make do with the two minute elevator rides then.

Finally, four days later, they were in the elevator together.

“Good morning, Fitz,” Jemma said cheerfully, beaming at him when he turned around and watched her walk past him to get to the elevator. She wasted no time in pressing the lobby button, and then looked over her shoulder to see if he was following.

He seemed to hesitate, standing in the middle of the hallway, and she wondered if her small greeting was really that out of line and maybe he was really just as ridiculous as she never hoped, before he shook his head and stepped onto the elevator.

“Hi,” he said when the doors slid closed.

Was she supposed to repeat her hellos, or change the subject, or--

“I'm sorry,” he blurted out almost immediately, which relieved her, since she didn’t have to start the conversation, but also threw her off because this was not at all a conversation she had prepared for when she had rehearsed in the shower.

“What for?” she asked cautiously, her heart thumping from the lack of preparation.

“Y'know, about the cat liver. I, uh, well, it was wrong of me to react that way. I really do respect biologists, even if it is the easier science.”

If she hadn’t noticed his slanting apologetic smile, she would have unleashed hell on his for that. Probably sensing that, he immediately followed up with, “I’m-I’m joking, you know? I couldn’t do what you do.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, Fitz.” The lines of tension smoothed from her face. Maybe he didn’t hate her after all? Maybe they just had gotten off on the wrong foot. The elevator dinged for the third floor, coming to a stop at unbearably slow rate.

The man who stepped onto the elevator with them huffed demonstratively as the doors really took their time to close. For a moment, it seemed the elevator wasn’t moving at all.

“Someday this thing is just not going to move at all,” the man laughed. Jemma gave the man a smile to note that she had appreciated his quip.

When they finally reached the lobby, Jemma was about to offer to walk out with Fitz until she saw him glancing at her with a focused gaze.

“What?” she asked him as they stepped off, moving to the side so that they wouldn’t block the lobby traffic.

“That’s...  my sweater,” Fitz breathed out, and she could hear the notes of annoyance and maybe some indignation laced in his words.

What? That was insane. She pulled out the bottom of the deep blue wool sweater she was wearing, examining it as best she could from that angle. No, it was definitely hers.

“I think you’re mistaken,” she offered, hoping to quell the irritability she saw in his features.

“No, it’s mine. And I’ve been looking for it for weeks. My mum gave me it.” Though his tone was hard, she saw the edges of red creeping up his neck and his ears.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. That was a cheap shot, and he knew it. A gift from his mother? As if. “How do you know this is that sweater?” she challenged crisply.

“Because,” he said firmly as he approached her, the redness crossing into his facial features, filling in his cheeks. “I have…” He moved closer until their faces were almost six inches apart. He placed his hand, so gently that she could barely feel the touch, on her wrist.

Her heart stuttered. She hoped that he noticed that it was his hand gripping her wrist, not the other way around because based on how deeply he was blushing it didn’t seem that way at all. And they had never, ever, stood this close to one another before. She licked her lips nervously.

“An ink stain on the inside of the forearm,” he continued. He wasn’t wrong, she noted, but it was very hard to focus on what he was saying when he was standing so close to her and she could really see how blue his eyes really were, even though he cast them down. When he finally stepped away from her, it was also easy to see how symmetrical his face was.

“Also,” he sputtered, “I have a tear,” he lifted his arm to point to the seam on his right side, “right here.”

She found herself lifting her arm up, as if in a daze, to run her hand up the side seam to… a tear. Oh dear. Fuck it - how could things have gone wrong again?

“Oh Fitz, I’m so sorry,” she began, horrified and completely embarrassed. "I must have taken it from the laundry, I'm so sorry--" Jemma didn't really know what to do, but for some odd reason she somehow thought the best solution was to give him the sweater back right then. She started to tug at the bottom of it. “Here, let me.”

“Uh--no, don’t, Simmons,” he rasped out at her, and she pulled the sweater back down over her body. His eyes were wide and his pupils were dark, and his mouth was parted slightly in a surprised gape. God, she must have looked so ridiculous undressing in the middle of the lobby.

“You can keep it,” he stated slowly.

“Oh no, Fitz, I couldn’t.” Why was he offering her the sweater?

“It’s fine, it’s seems it’s been stretched out a bit anyway by uh, your um,” he paused to make some awkward circling motion around his pectorals. What was he referring to… _oh._

She coughed, unsure of how to proceed. With a deep inhale, she decided to go with the plan. No finishing his sentences. “Thank you Fitz.” She began to walk towards the exit of their lobby. Fitz followed her without hesitation this time.

“No really,” she continued. “Thank you for letting me wear it today. It’s been my lucky sweater,” she saw his edges of his mouth curve with disapproval. “Not that luck is actually a thing, of course, but my wearing it has been correlated with some good results lately and it’s been reassuring to wear it.” He looked pleased once again, so she pushed on with more confidence. “You see, I just have an important presentation next week, and it’s crucial that I have these numbers…"

He nodded along as she explained her research as they made their way down the block. His commentary, while sparse, showed his understanding and interest in her work. That… really didn’t happen often. And as they parted ways at the corner, and she gave her, well his, blue sweater a tug, it seemed like maybe they could actually end up being friends some day.

\----

Fitz hadn't been on the elevator so many days straight since his... accident, really. But he hadn't talked to Jemma so many times as he had in the past few days, either, and there wasn't any real polite way to avoid the elevator and take the stairs when she walked along with him.

He couldn't ignore (as much as he tried) the very unsubtle shift in their interactions; from cautiously ignoring one another until it was necessary, to her outright trying to strike up a conversation. It'd been almost two weeks, and the new system was a bit strange. Not just with seeing one another in the lift, but she was coming over almost every day to see Skye, too. It felt like there was just a lot that needed to be said and they were tiptoeing around it with fake pleasantries.

Although, he didn’t realize just how precarious their interactions were, until he accidentally shorted the building’s power.

“I just don’t understand why you had to play around with that stuff,” Skye insisted, as they exited the apartment. She was tagging along with him to the basement where he was going to check the electrical box. And while she claimed it was because she had nothing better to do, it was probably to make sure he didn't mess anything else up or get electrocuted himself. Also, she was just pretty brassed off. “You better fix this right now, Leopold, or I’ll shit on everything you love.”

“You’ll be shitting on yourself, then,” he mumbled under his breath. “And for the record, I wasn’t playing-- I was just trying to see if I could boost the power--”

“Jemma, are you okay?” Skye interrupted him, and Fitz whirled around at that, his jaw slacking when he spotted a very disheveled, wet-haired and pale-faced Jemma Simmons frantically leaving her apartment.

“No,” she all but barked out, waving a hand in front of her. “I have a presentation in twenty minutes and my power went out and I couldn’t get ready and oh, dear, I’m a mess."

Fitz’s blood went cold, dread seeping into him.

Skye nodded understandingly, rolling her eyes as she pointed a thumb behind her to him. “Yeah, you can blame that bozo over there, he was trying to see if he could make our toaster work faster, and he managed to short circuit everything."  

Jemma stopped in her tracks, adjusting her belongings so they were in one hand, while she placed the other on her hip. Despite her bedraggled appearance, Fitz had never seen anyone look more menacing.

“You did this?” The tone of her voice was dangerously high.

“I-uh.” After a long silence-filled moment, Fitz slumped, ducking his head and looking down at his feet. He wondered if he had been born with the ability to make everything go wrong, or was that somehow shaped by his environment.

“You knew I had this presentation today,” she pressed on. “How could you let this happen? Or did you not listen to a word I said?”

He felt Skye shift uncomfortably at his side. He still had no idea how to answer Jemma and her ire wasn’t helping him find the words.

“I don’t have time for this,” she sighed disparagingly. “See you later, Skye.” Though he still didn’t look up, her retreating footsteps echoed in his ears solemnly. What had he done?

“Oh gosh, Fitz, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to out you,” Skye whispered. “I didn’t know she had a presentation and-”

“Not your fault,” he replied curtly, running his hand through his hair nervously. He had to fix this.

\----

Jemma stormed into the lobby several hours later, her face dark with disappointment and embarrassment. She still managed a polite hello to the doorman, but she knew that the moment she got home she was going to put on some Doctor Who and relax with some light gluten-free biscuits. Curse this day.

The elevator came up slowly from the basement, and she bounced lightly on her feet with impatience. She could not wait to get away from everyone. To her great chagrin, none other than Leopold Fitz stood, meekly, clutching his laundry basket, at the back of the elevator.

Clenching her jaw to maintain the stoniness of her features, she stepped onto the lift without saying hello. He practically squeezed himself into the corner opposite from her. Good. It was his fault that her hair was still clumpy and sticky from the unwashed shampoo, and that she hadn’t been able to put makeup on so everyone kept asking her if she was sick.

“How did your presentation go?” she heard him ask from behind her. Why did he even care? He clearly hadn’t cared enough before to not disrupt the entire buildings power on this day.

“It went awfully, thank you very much,” she snapped, wanting to berate him further, but was suddenly interrupted by the lights flickering in the elevator as it jerked to a stop. She grabbed the wall in a burst of panic, unsure of what to do next. She looked over to Fitz, who had turned almost a pale shade of green in his displeasure with the situation, his knuckles whitening as he held on tightly to the laundry basket.

But, almost as immediately as it had stopped, the elevator went right back to chugging along.

Her anger softened seeing how uncomfortable he was, and acknowledged that she was perhaps being a little hard on him. After all, if it had been any other neighbor, even Skye, she wouldn’t have been filled with such a blinding rage. As the doors to their floor opened and Fitz scurried off as fast as he could, she decided to call after him. “Wait! Fitz - actually, it wasn’t really your fault my presentation went poorly. I’m sorry that I lashed out at you.”

He stopped and turned to look at her, his expression pained with worry. “I didn’t mean - the power - I didn’t - I knew your presentation was today,” he fumbled.

“I know you didn’t mean to do it on purpose,” she comforted him as they ambled down the hallway. “It’s just I can’t get seem to finalize this project for a virus I've been studying for a while, and there’s been no breakthrough in my research whatsoever, and it’s not something I’m used to at all.” She gave a small laugh, “And standing in front of people who are supposed to give me grants explaining that my research will get somewhere isn’t the most pleasant thing.”

“Oh, are you trying to make some kind of vaccine?” he asked.

“More of an antiserum,” she corrected. “It’s for a new disease that’s been…” She stopped immediately. “Oh, I can’t say.”

“Is it the one that’s being transferred between bats through electrostatic shock?” he asked, grinning now.

Jemma blinked at him owlishly. “Yes! How did you know about that?”

He grinned slightly, “I’ve been working on a device to deal with it, too. I have a contract with the CDC as well.” He frowned. “Although, it’s been stumping me, too.”

“Well, I guess since we both have clearance we could talk about it,” Jemma continued cautiously.

“Yeah.” He nodded, still clutching his laundry.

Jemma sighed. “It’s just, I’m certain I have the formula correct - we have a few bats who’ve survived the illness and we’ve been using their cells, but the serum just doesn’t work. And the CDC is breathing down my neck because they’re so afraid it’s going to be transferred to people and…”

Fitz didn't say anything when she trailed off, but he was staring at the space in front of him with concentration. She wondered if she should interrupt his thoughts or wait for him to reply, and just when she was deciding to change the subject, he blew out some air and shrugged.

"I'm not sure myself," he told her eventually, and she sighed again.

"It's alright, I'll figure it out eventually," she told him, even though she was starting to think that wasn't the case. There was just something she was missing, and no matter how many times she poured over her notes, she couldn't solve it. The answer was hiding right under her nose, she could feel it. "But in any case, my frustrations towards that wasn't a reason to snap at you this morning," she finally concluded.

Fitz dropped his jaw. "Oh. Uh... No, I understand."

"I'm sorry," she insisted, "for being rude."

"I'm sorry for trying to fix my toaster and breaking it instead," he replied, and grinned widely when she laughed at that. "I promise everything is back to how it was."

"I'll have to see for myself," she said, and gave him another small smile. "I'm sorry again."

"Me too."

She started to walk off towards her room, but he called after her, and she turned, curious.

"I hope that you, uh... Can figure out a solution to your vaccine soon."

"Antiserum," she corrected again, automatically, without thinking about it. She winced when she saw him falter.

"Uh, yes-- yeah, antiserum. Sorry." He scratched the back of his head. "I hope you figure that out."

"Thank you, Fitz. And I hope you figure out your toaster problem, too." He nodded appreciatively at that, and then turned and started walking away and so she did the same.

When she turned on the hallway light in her apartment, she smiled. He was being modest; It was definitely a lot brighter than it was before.

\----

Fitz was climbing the stairs on a Sunday afternoon, pleased when no one was around to see him slump his way up one step at a time. Apparently all the rides he was taking in the lift were affecting his endurance on the stairs.

But he'd been familiarizing himself with them again because he only ever really took the lift when he bumped into Jemma, and he hadn't done so for ten days then.

Not that he cared, really. He was busy, she was busy. And if the zombie apocalypse was coming, he had to be fit. He didn't miss her or anything. He just missed not feeling like he was going to die from physical exertion.

Right.

As he reached the eighth floor, Fitz’s ears twitched as he heard the sound of bloodcurdling screaming coming from down the hall. It only took him a second to realize it was _Skye’s screaming_.

Panicked, he sprinted down the hall, his heart rate increasing not only from the additional unexpected exercise, but thought of Skye being hurt.

His hands shook as he fumbled the keys into the lock, taking longer than expected to open the door. As he did so, Simmons burst out of the apartment next door, looking positively flustered. She was wearing oversized sweatpants and a pink tee shirt, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite it being unlike her usual get up, he found himself staring all the same, mouth opening and —Skye, Skye was still screaming.

“What's happened? Why is she screaming?” Simmons panted, rushing over to him. He noted that she wasn't wearing any shoes, and she seemed a lot smaller than him than she usually did. She followed his gaze and seemed to realize the same thing; she started to pat down her clothes, her face flushed. Skye’s screaming must have been as alarming to her as it was to him.

“I have no idea,” he replied, still fumbling with the lock.

“Here, let me help,” Jemma offered, and he found himself stepping aside to let her open the door with ease.

Trip was standing in the middle of the living room, laughing, Skye in his arms drowning out any other sounds he was making. He looked like he couldn’t stop laughing and she looked like she’d seen a ghost. So, naturally, everything seemed to be perfectly alright.

Fitz let out a slightly annoyed sigh of relief. Unbelievable.

Simmons also looked displeased. “Skye!” she called. “There are people trying to rest on a Sunday afternoon.”

Skye gathered herself, still clutching Trip. “Fucking-fucking COCKROACHES! They’re all over my room and they’re the size of my hand and I can’t--” she shuddered, disgusted.

Trip laughed, adjusting her in his arms easily (of course), “Well, that’s why you need to put away food before you stay with me for a week.”

Fitz stared at Skye, trying not to be completely horrified.

“Oh my god,” Skye suddenly realized, “I am so sorry, Fitz. They seem to just be in my room, I don’t think they’ve spread…yet. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, god I’m so stupid. We need to call the landlord.”

His annoyance with the situation and with Skye was definitely outweighed by his pity for her (and maybe Trip, who didn’t look like he was getting out of cradling her any time soon). “It’s okay, don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. Just calm down, Skye. We just… can’t call the landlord.”

Jemma threw him a quizzical look. “Why not?”

Fitz shook his head. “He’ll raise the rent – we’re about to renew the lease. And the exterminators are going to do a shoddy job of this, anyway. I’ll get rid of them.”

“And how are you going to do that, exactly?” Skye asked, still unnerved. “Those things can survive like… nuclear war!”

Fitz frowned, putting his hands on his hips and mentally going through a list of ways that would probably kill the cockroaches… but also probably kill everyone else in the room eventually, too.

He could almost hear a ding! of a lightbulb go off above Jemma’s head; her eyes were alight and her mouth was open in surprise when he turned to her. She held up a finger like she was trying to finish a thought. “I have something that I’ve been working on,” she said eagerly. “A super potent poison that I’ve been recently testing. Right now it’s just in liquid form, though, so maybe…” She trailed off, looking at Fitz, but Skye responded before he could.

“So you’re going to splash liquid poison all over my room? Yeah, I’m gonna have to vote no against that one. C’mon, nerds, new plan,” she said, completely unenthused. She tightened her arms around Trip. But Trip was staring at Fitz and Jemma with a calculating look.

“Maybe if you had some way to contain the poison?” Trip suggested. “Like a… uh, syringe or--”

“Yes, exactly!” Jemma quickly agreed “That’s an excellent idea, Trip! A sort of contained delivery mechanism, or--”

“I think I have something,” Fitz interrupted, nodding along eagerly. When he looked up, Jemma was inspecting him with wide and earnest eyes; he gave her a small smile. “I have a few drones I’ve been working on, I think I can fiddle with one of them.” His mind was already racing with different ideas, a mental blueprint piecing together everything as he spoke. 

Jemma was visibly excited, bouncing on the balls of her feet and nodding almost frantically. Her enthusiasm for science filled Fitz with so much passion himself. Out of ideas for weeks, and suddenly he had a million.

“Could you program your drone to catch one first?” Jemma asked then. “I’ll bring over my samples and we can test it to see how much we need per bug?" 

Fitz nodded, his hands shaking in anticipation. “I’m on it,” he told her and headed straight for his room and Jemma immediately raced out the front door.

He’d almost forgotten about Trip and Skye standing in the middle of the room until Skye piped up, “Okay, well, while you guys deal with this situation, Trip and I are going to go get Chipotle.”

Trip laughed, and Fitz heard the telling sound of something hitting the ground. “How in the hell did talking about poisoning cockroaches work up your appetite, girl?” 

“I always have an appetite! And I’ve been craving guac all day.”

“You’re going to ruin my figure,” Trip admonished sarcastically.

“Guac has good fats! It’s very healthy,” Skye protested.

Fitz rolled his eyes, amused. If he wasn’t shuffling things around to find a drone, he’d have stopped and consider that he hadn’t seen Skye that happy and carefree in months. When he’d finally found one drone, he stuck his head out the door just as Skye and Trip were putting on their shoes. “Hey, could you bring me back some guac and chips?”

Trip threw up his hands in mock disdain, “You too, man? You’re going to be the one killing the bugs!”

Fitz shrugged.

Rolling his eyes, Trip pushed Skye out the door and gave Fitz a thumbs up anyway.

As Fitz pulled out a paper to check some equations on, he found that the math flowed out of him with ease. It’d been months since his work had come to him so willingly. He’d really missed this -- working and designing… and feeling useful. His burst of confidence propelled him forward, and he was so focused on taking apart the drone, he all but jumped when there was a knock on his door.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t cat liver,” she was saying when he looked up. Jemma was standing in the threshold of his room, holding up some vials, showcasing them for him. But he didn’t even take a second look at them because she was standing there in nice black pants and a flowery patterned blouse, her hair down and her smile impossibly bright. It took him a second to realize that she’d just said something and he’d missed it, too busy questioning whether he should have changed himself, the dorito stain on his sleeve suddenly a lot more visible.

He must have been staring at her because she shifted under his gaze. “What?” she asked quietly. “I knocked,” she told him with a smile when he still didn’t reply.

“Just, um… you look different, that’s all,” he said, and instantly bit his tongue at that. _What?_ Why did he say that? What was wrong with him?

“Oh,” she replied, looking flustered, and tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. 

Oh, God, he’d made her uncomfortable.. “Not bad different! Just…” He shook his head back and forth, hoping for this conversation to stop. “Is that the poison?” he asked eventually, grasping at anything to change the subject.

“Oh! Yes, here they are.” She stepped into the room, holding out the vials to him, but he shook his head a bit, holding out the drone to show her instead.

“Great. How about you get set up in here, and I’ll send this little guy in to catch a cockroach?” A passing glance around his room made him realize this was probably a bad idea. The bed wasn’t made, he still had yesterday’s clothes on the chair…

“That sounds perfect,” she assured him, walking up to him. “Your workspace is so neat! My lab desk is always an explosion,” she laughed. “I’m always spending so much time cleaning up when I’m done.”

Relieved, he nodded to her and scurried out of the room. “C’mon Doc,” he pleaded as he activated the drone with his tablet. He creaked open the door to Skye’s room and directed the drone into it, using the little camera display on the front of it to navigate through trashy magazines, other girly products, some tech devices Skye most certainly couldn’t have obtained legally until-- ah ha! A cockroach. He snagged it up effortlessly.

Simmons beamed at him over her shoulder when he flew the drone into the room before him. “Wonderful, place it here, please.”

He contained a small laugh, as she had put on protective goggles.“I take it Carol’s blindness really had an effect on you?” *

Jemma rolled her eyes, holding out a pair for him, too. He staggered back at that, surprised. “You know safety isn’t a joke,” she admonished. “Besides, this is very potent.” She lifted a tiny syringe out with a small vial that had some blue liquid in it. 

“What is that?” he asked, as he put on the goggles.

“I call it dendrotoxin,” she replied as she leaned over towards the cockroach. Fitz noticed that she had moved his desk lamp to shine the light perfectly for her.

“I’ve never heard of that,” he admitted.

“That’s because I’ve invented it! It’s my own special formula.” She was almost giddy, even as her hands were as steady as ever. The cockroach the she had injected had stopped flailing instantly.

“Excellent, just as a I thought. Each cockroach requires about a milliliter of dendrotoxin to reach terminal toxicity. Any chance you could work the syringe into your drone there? That way he could inject each one and we wouldn’t have to do it one by one.”

“That’s brilliant.” Fitz conceded. “I can definitely do that.”

It was an unanimous decision to relocate out to the living room after he’d finished up the modifications to the drone. About an hour later, they were on his couch, sitting close together, watching Doc hunt cockroaches on his tablet. They’d been enjoying an odd mix of killing cockroaches and lively conversation when Jemma got up and walked over to the fridge, easily pulling out two drinks and tossing him one-- the real stuff, not the watered down beer Skye liked to nurse-- like she’d been doing that for ages. And then he wondered for a moment when exactly having Jemma Simmons grab a drink and slide down next to him on the couch had become a normal thing. He glanced over at her while she clicked away at his tablet and tried to ignore a rather annoyingly insistent warmth growing inside him.

“This is so cool,” Jemma laughed, pulling him out of his thoughts, “It’s almost like playing a video game.”

Fitz chuckled, “Yeah. Maybe we should open an exterminator business. Sit on people’s couches and play video games.”

“Oh!” Jemma bounced, twisting towards him, “We could call it FITZSIMMONS extermination!”

Fitz started, trying not to choke on his drink. He’d never realized how well their names work together. He opened his mouth to stutter a reply, when the tablet beeped loudly. Doc was done.

“Wow, that was too quick!” Jemma said.

“That’s what she said,” Fitz teased, despite himself.

Jemma shot him a look of surprise, and when he didn’t make any other response, she bumped her shoulder to his. “I’m sure not to you,” she told him, and then laughed when he gaped in mock surprise. He grinned bashfully and shook his head, keeping his eyes on the tablet as Doc flew out into the living room and landed on his lap.

“You should probably--” Jemma started to say at the same time that he got up and said, “I’m going to go wash this off.”

She laughed. “Good plan.”

He made his way to the kitchen, taking out the syringe as carefully as possible (Jemma had made him put on gloves before handling it), and putting it in the waste basket that Jemma had brought over (she really was always prepared, wasn’t she?). When the drone was all wiped down, he turned around to head back out to the living room, but stopped when he found Jemma leaning against the counter.

She was smiling at him, and there was that whoosh again, all in his stomach and in his ears. He beamed right back at her, shuffling his hands around, unsure of where to put them before finally dropping them to his side.

“Great job,” he blurted out, only to realize he was speaking over her as she had tried to say “good team work.” They both laughed at that, and then apologized for talking over each other by talking over each other some more. After a pause, he opened his mouth to say something else, but then Jemma was suddenly engulfing him into a hug.

He didn’t realize he was reciprocating until his face was full of her hair, her hair that smelled fruity and… maybe a bit of vanilla? He then became aware of the warmth of her against him, and that he had been holding for much longer than was probably socially acceptable. But, to his surprise, she wasn’t pulling away, either. She was probably being very polite.

He pulled his face away slowly, arms still around her waist, and she seemed to be moving back just as carefully; their faces were centimeters from each other. He could count every eyelash that framed her bright eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, and he could feel her hot breath on his own lips 

The door suddenly flew open, startling him and making him almost shove Jemma back.

Skye gave them an odd look, but then her face burst into a grin. “So, did you guys get rid of the cockroaches? 

Jemma took another step back, clearing her throat and smoothing her outfit, though it had no wrinkles. “Well, we killed them for you,” she said, smiling quickly and then glancing at her wristwatch.

“Great!” Skye beamed, kicking off her shoes as Trip dumped a bag of food onto the counter.

Jemma glanced up at Fitz for a moment, and he held his breath when she started walking towards him-- but she just slipped behind him and grabbed the waste basket with the poison in it. “Don’t want to leave this around,” she muttered quietly, and Fitz watched her move towards the door with a sinking feeling. Jemma turned back around for a moment. “Thank you for letting me test that out,” she said, switching her gaze between Skye and Fitz. “It was wonderful,” she added, keeping her eyes on him, “but I should be heading out.” And she left with a quick goodbye.   

Skye waved her out-- “Thanks for helping, Jem!”-- but then whirled around towards Fitz. “Wait a minute? You _only_ killed them? I have a mess of cockroach corpses to clean up?!”

Trip was barely containing his laughter behind her, but Fitz frowned. “Yes, Skye, you can clean them out,” he said, almost surprising himself with how haughty his words came out, and definitely surprised at the sudden annoyance he felt towards Skye streaming through him.

Skye ignored him, turning to start whining to Trip about the mess, begging him to help her clean up instead.

“Girl,” Trip kindly replied, “you know I’d do it for you. You don’t have to ask.” Fitz watched their easy exchange and sighed. “Hey, Fitz,” Trip said then, pointing to the counter,  “I got you the food.”

Fitz stared at the bag for a moment and then shook his head. “Uh… thanks, Trip, but I’m not all that hungry anymore. Sorry. I’ll pay you back.”

“It’s cool, man, I got it,” Trip was saying, while Skye poked at Fitz’ tablet. “You alright?”

Fitz nodded, reaching forward to grab the tablet out of Skye’s hand. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he told them. “Just tired, I think.” He spewed off something else about having a busy next couple of days and needing a lot of sleep, talking the whole way down the hall until he got to his room and closing the door. He turned around and noticed that Jemma had forgotten to turn off the lamp from before. He switched it off, deciding to keep it where Jemma had moved it. It made things look brighter in that spot, anyway.

\----

He walked up the stairs, sighing when the elevator came into view, thinking wearily about how many different emotions he had tied to small, enclosed metal boxes. Fear, hurt, pain, suddenly mixed with anticipation and maybe warmth…

It’d been two days since the cockroach incident, and it felt like as soon as Skye had cleaned up her room, the evidence of the whole thing had been cleaned up, as well. Never thought he’d feel so oddly attached to cockroach corpses… and he—wait, what was that?

Fitz focused his eyes and then widened them when he made his way to his apartment door. There was a package sitting outside of it.

A package with Jemma Simmons' name on it.

His heart raced as he picked it up, and he didn’t remember ever fully telling his legs to turn around and head down the hall, but he was almost in front of the door to apartment 87. It was the best plan of action, though, wasn’t it? Thinking logically about it, of course. For example, what if the package had to be refrigerated again? Or maybe be handled with gloves or other things he didn’t have as readily available? He had to make sure the package was properly taken care of.

But… he slowed, stopping steps away from the door. What if she wasn’t around? Then he’d feel like a total idiot going over there.

Well, then, he’d have to keep it at his apartment. And he’d have to wait until she came over to help Skye to give it to her.

Only he wasn’t even sure she was going to come over and hang out with Skye that day. And maybe she really needed it right away for the dendrotoxin project.

He started walking again.

But maybe—

But maybe he just wanted to go over there and give it to her, he thought. And he didn’t let himself consider what the implications of that were when he knocked on her door before he could lose his nerve.

“Oh! Hello, Fitz.” Jemma opened the door, her eyes widening when she swung it all the way. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail like the night before, so none of her face was hidden and he could see the way her smile really lit up her whole face.

“Uh,” he started, coughing once. “I, uh—well, um—“ Fitz started to motion in the air with his free hand, as if trying to grasp the words that were hanging there, but seemed to be too far out of his reach.  Eventually, he held up the box and pointed to it and hoped for the best.

Jemma glanced down at the box in his other hand, and her eyes _really_ widened then, her mouth opening. “Oh my goodness, is that—“

“Yeah,” Fitz said, sighing in relief at the fact that she’d managed to understand him. “Sorry, I found this at my doorstep,” he explained as Jemma took the box out of his hand, her fingers brushing his. “Didn’t want it to be sitting next to my lunch again,” he added teasingly.

Jemma examined the box for a moment, and then stared up at him in confusion. “It doesn’t say to refrigerate this one, actually. I think this is a teacup,” she told him, and then shook the box and grinned. “Yes, I think so.”

Fitz didn’t need a mirror to know his face was completely red. Well, then. “Right. I didn’t—I just assumed…”

“Oh, no, you’re fine!” Jemma insisted, stopping him. “Thank you so much for bringing this over here. Although I don’t know why it ended up with you in the first place, I didn’t even write this one, actually,” she said, shrugging one shoulder while she read the packaging label that was indeed a lot cleaner than her usual scribbles.

“The doorman must’ve mixed it up when he distributed them,” he offered, to which she nodded understandingly.

“You’re probably right,” she replied. He opened his mouth to say something, but was really glad when she decided to talk first, as words were still avoiding him. “Thank you so much for bringing this to me,” she repeated from before, smiling softly at him. “I was waiting for this for a while. It’s a Doctor Who mug. Collector's item,” she said, a tint of shyness to her.

“Really?” Fitz said. “Well then, maybe I should have kept it myself,” he joked.

Jemma laughed and pulled the box more snuggly against herself, which made him grin in response. Something sounded behind her then—the sound of a tea kettle going off, he realized. Jemma turned her head at the sound, and then looked back at him.

“Actually, you caught me at the perfect time,” she told him, “I was just making tea right now. Would you like to join me?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he replied instantly, nodding. “I’d—yeah, I’d love to.”

Jemma nodded back, smiling. “Okay! Come in!” She pushed the door open, and started walking in what he assumed to be the direction of the kitchen. Even just standing in the doorway, Fitz could tell that the place was owned by Jemma; clean lines, bright yellow walls, everything in perfect order. He felt very out of place, far too much of a mess to be there, and shuffled around trying not to touch anything.  He looked up and noted two cups already situated at the counter. Jemma was rummaging through the drawers until she pulled out a pair of scissors which she used to cut, very neatly of course, the tape on the box.

“Normally I wouldn’t have gotten another cup, I already have too many teacups, but I just had to have this one—“

“Hey, Jem.”

Fitz turned his head in the direction of the voice and saw a bloke with a towel around his waist and nothing else walking into the room. He strolled over to where Jemma was, completely ignoring Fitz, and picked up one of the mugs that was one the counter. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, swooping down and pecking Jemma on the forehead before grabbing the teapot and pouring himself some a cup.

“Are you quite finished using up all the hot water, then?” Jemma was saying when Fitz’s hearing came back into use. She swatted at the bloke’s hand when he tried to poke her cheek.

“It’s not my fault the bloody thing takes 40 minutes to heat up just right,” the bloke was insisting, sipping at his tea.

Jemma rolled her eyes, and flickered her gaze back to where Fitz was. She seemed to remember his presence then and jumped slightly. “Lance,” she said, motioning towards Fitz, “this is my neighbor, Fitz.”

The bloke-- Lance-- nodded towards him, holding up the cup in a makeshift salute. “‘Lo, mate.” He fixed up his cup with the milk and sugar, and Fitz wasn’t sure what exactly he was supposed to do in return, so he just stood there.

“And Fitz,” Jemma started, motioning towards Lance, “this is Lance. He’s my--”

“Jem,” Lance interrupted, putting his hand on her shoulder, “do you think you could run down to the washers--”

He didn’t even get to finish before Jemma was groaning. “You’re ridiculous, do you know that?” she told him, shaking her head. “How many times have I told you to just leave an extra pair of clothing here?”

“Well, I don’t know how long I’m going to stay when I come,” he told her, and then grabbed the edge of the towel before it slipped off. “What if I leave a shirt here and then I want to wear it when I’m not here?”

Jemma sighed. “I’ll go get your things in a minute, just go wait back in the room before you cause me any more of a headache.” When he didn’t move, Jemma shoved at his chest. He staggered as he tried to take another swig at his tea before putting it down and heeding to her pushes.

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” he conceded. “If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask,” he added, and Fitz thought he might have raised his eyebrows when Lance looked at him and gave him a wink at that but he wasn't sure.

Fitz could admit to living a rather awkward life for most of his life, being a generally clumsy and often socially misunderstood type of person, but there was something to be said about the colossal amount of awkwardness radiating from him while he was watching Jemma Simmons practically shove Lance down the hall of her apartment.

And then it hit him-- why Jemma had bolted the other night when he thought there might have been…. why she snapped up when Skye came in and saw them so close to one another and then rushed out immediately. Why she had two cups set out already when he came into the room. Why she had a basically-naked bloke in her apartment talking to her about getting his clothes out of the washers.

Oh.

“I’m sorry about him,” Jemma was saying when she walked back into the room. “He thinks he owns the place,” she told him, rolling her eyes. Fitz just stared at her, unsure of how he was still standing there when every cell in his body was screaming at him to run. “What kind of tea-”

“Uh,” Fitz interrupted, rubbing at his chin and gazing at anything in the room but her. “Um, you know what, Simmons? I, uh, I actually have to go,” he told her, patting down his pockets until he found his phone.

“Do you?” she asked, shoulders dropping -- from relief, maybe? “You can't stay for just one cup? I thought maybe you'd like to be the first to use the--”

“No, I can’t,” he reiterated, whipping out his phone. “Because, uh… Skye called me and I… have to go.”

Jemma stared at him without speaking for a few seconds. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he said, already taking a step back toward the door. “Yeah, so I shouldn’t-- you know, keep her waiting--”

“No, of course not,” Jemma agreed slowly, twisting her fingers together in front of her. “Well, I’m sorry you have to go, we’ll have to--”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he heard himself saying, and wanted to smack his head for telling his mouth that it was alright to let those words come out. Jemma raised her eyebrows at that, and he could tell that there was no subtle way for him to escape without making it clear he didn’t want to be around her and her boyfriend.

“You didn’t,” she told him, but he shook his head.

“It’s fine, I’ll just go. Enjoy your--” he motioned towards the kitchen and then almost towards the hallway but dropped his hand quickly. “Bye.”

And then he opened her door and closed it behind him.

\----

"Who was that?" Bobbi stepped out into the hallway just seconds after the door had slammed in Jemma's face. "Hunter, you have an extra pair of clothes in the bottom drawer," she told him.

"Oh, bless you," he said. "And I dunno, I think it was Jem's bloke," Lance replied before Jemma could stop staring at the door in bewilderment. She snapped out of her daze as soon as Bobbi gasped and shoved her shoulder from behind.

"Jemma! You have a guy?" Bobbi asked eagerly, twisting her wet hair around her fingers, droplets dripping onto her shirt. Jemma spun around, shaking her head frantically.

"No!" Jemma cleared her throat when Bobbi raised her eyebrows at her, realizing that she'd practically yelled at her. "No, not really. He's my neighbor," she amended, more quietly

"Your neighbor that you like to make googly eyes at?" Lance called from Bobbi's room, as Bobbi took a seat on the couch.

"Hunter, shut your face," Bobbi said easily, sticking Jemma with a curious look. "Is this the same guy that hates you?" 

"Yes. Well, no. I don't know." Jemma sighed and walked over to sit next to her roommate. "We've been seeing a lot of each other lately--"

"Oooohhh --" Lance said.  

"-- and I mean that in the most literal sense of the word," Jemma explained, turning to face Bobbi. "I go over to his place sometimes --"

"-- oooohhhh --" Lance started, but Bobbi picked up a pillow and chucked it at him. "Ow, okay I'll stop."

"-- to visit with his roommate, Skye," Jemma finished. "And him occasionally, if he's around. Not that I know when he is or not or anything." Bobbi didn't say anything, but Jemma could tell she didn't exactly believe her. "And sometimes we end up taking the lift at the same time, but... I don't think he hates me. At least, I hope not."

"Huh." 

"We get along very well, when we're not bickering, which is, I'll admit, about half the time." Jemma winced.

"Mmhm." 

"And I sort of thought..." She looked down at her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together. She'd thought a lot of things about Fitz lately, but all of them were muddled and jumbled together, she couldn't focus on one thought long enough to think it through. And she could always focus.

"Is he cute?"

Like that, for example; Jemma looked up at Bobbi and opened her mouth a few times, because she'd start to think of his hair but then get distracted by his eyes and then -- no, the way he smelled when they were sitting together and -- what was the question again?

Lance's snort broke her stream of thoughts. "He does have a sort of scruffy look to him that some might find attractive. He’s not your type though, Bob, trust me."

Jemma tried not scoff at that. Really, a nice symmetrical face, low body fat index, and impossibly blue eyes? Who wouldn't find that attractive? "He's... nice to look at, I suppose."

"What happened? Why was he over?" Jemma had somehow forgotten about Bobbi Morse' bluntness during the month long absence without her. Sometimes her questions were a bit more like an interrogation.

"He came to give me that-- " Jemma pointed to the box on the counter --"it ended up with him next door for some reason," she explained when Bobbi looked like she had something to say to that. "But then he said his roommate called and he had to go. Which is odd, because Skye told me she was going out with Trip for the evening and she usually tells me this so I won't expect her to reply to my messages all night."

"Hmm." Bobbi nodded thoughtfully, her fingers still twisting through her hair, the faint sound of an announcer screeching _gooooooal!_ coming from down the hall. "Well, maybe something happened?" Bobbi reasoned.  

"Maybe. I don't know. He's not always... I don't know what to think, honestly." She shrugged. There just weren't enough words for her to even try and explain, so she didn't even want to start and try. She gave Bobbi a bright smile. "Anyway! Sorry, I've been talking about myself this whole time. Tell me about your trip!"

For a moment she thought Bobbi wouldn't humor her, but Bobbi threw her arm over the back of the couch and settled in. "Well...."

Although gaining Skye as a friend had been so wonderful, and having someone to talk to face to face on a regular basis was great, she'd missed the company of her roommate. Bobbi always had a clever tale to share, some that were pretty unbelievable at times. Maybe Jemma wasn't always as excited when Lance came around, Bobbi's whatever-he-was, but beyond his self-entitlement, he was like a big brother to her. A big brother that sometimes flirted with her into doing his laundry, but a brother nonetheless.

It was nice to have this rhythm back in her life. They always did this -- sat on the couch and talked for hours into the night. Bobbi had been gone for almost a month, doing consulting work all over the globe, and Jemma hadn't realized how much her life has changed in such a small period of time until Bobbi was mentioning ordering from a Thai place (Lance, of course, complaining about Sriracha sauce being too weak) that they'd all gone to just last month, and it felt like ages ago. Life had gone by and Jemma hadn't had much a chance to really think about it.

"So what about you?" Bobbi said at the end of a spew about Japan. "How's the project with the dendrotoxin going?"

"It's definitely coming along!" Oh, she'd almost forgotten about everything she wanted to tell Bobbi about it; she practically bounced in her seat. "I actually tested a sample just the other day on some cockroaches."

Bobbi glanced at her, narrowing her eyes. "Cockroaches? Don't you usually use lab rats?"

"Oh, it wasn't in the lab, it was... At Skye's apartment." At Bobbi's obvious look of alarm, Jemma rushed to add, "She left some food out that attracted them and Fitz and I managed to get rid of them, once we made a few modifications to one of his designs-- or, I shouldn't say 'we', he did everything. He's brilliant and I... What?"

Bobbi had pursed her lips and dropped her arm from off the back of the couch; Jemma scooted back so she could watch wearily as Bobbi took too long to respond. The longer the response time, the more Jemma feared what she was going to say. A whole thirty seconds went by and Jemma was really sure she didn’t want to know, at that point.

"Jemma, can I ask you something?" she said eventually.

"Well, technically you already-- " Jemma tried to joke, but Bobbi rolled her eyes affectionately.

But she pressed on, undeterred by Jemma’s attempt to sidetrack her, "How do you feel about Fitz?"

Jemma visibly blanched.

"What? Fitz? Oh, well, I... I think he's definitely respectable and smart and...while sometimes he's stubborn and hotheaded, he's generally nice and protective of Skye and... Sweet, even, when he wants to be..." She trailed off, nodding to herself. Yes, that sounded just about right.

Bobbi, though, didn't seem to agree. "Jemma, how do you feel about Fitz?" She kept eye contact with Jemma, giving her that look of hers, the one that could crack a mountain. How Lance maintained any secrets around Bobbi was beyond her.

"I thought I'd just answered that," she tried.

"No, you _described_ Fitz."

"Well, the way I'm describing him leads to some sense of a person -- "

"I can describe Hunter as being a total flirt," Bobbi interrupted, waving a hand in the general direction of Lance, "and someone who chews with his mouth open and says ‘fight me’ way too much for how short he is-- "

"Hey!" came his muffled protest.

"-- but that doesn't say anything about the fact that, for some weird reason, he makes me feel special." Jemma kept her eyes on Bobbi, but she was glancing off  somewhere, and Jemma would've missed that small smile that flickered across her face if she hadn't been paying attention. "And I feel safe around him. And I love him." But then Bobbi abruptly sat up just as Lance's voice was forming a syllable and snapped, "I swear to God, Hunter, if you say anything right now I will end you." She eased back into her seat and gave Jemma a smile and Jemma tried not to snort at the whole exchange.

True love at its finest, Jemma thought. She had never understood the two of them together, but she couldn't deny that they loved one another. For some reason, the snarling and the fighting worked for them. They were messy, but they owned their mess.

It was a far cry from what she was doing. The more she talked to Fitz, the more nothing was actually said. Why had he been so cold to her from the start? Why it feel like they were constantly fixing and breaking things for no real reason?

"I just... I don't know!" Jemma told Bobbi, throwing her hands up in defeat. "I would consider us friends but -- "

"Just--" Bobbi held her hand up to stop Jemma and put it on her shoulder when Jemma complied.  "How do you feel, Jemma? What are you feeling?"

What was she feeling? _What was she feeling?!_ No one had really ever asked her that, she didn't know where to begin considering how to respond. "... Confused," she decided. "I think... I like him. I mean, I do like him -- as a friend and definitely as a fellow scientist and even as a neighbor, now, actually. And..." She took a breath and looked down at her hands. "He does make me feel light and funny and special. If things keep going on how they have, in that sense... I could see myself feeling more than just general nice things towards him."

When she looked back up, Bobbi's face was very obviously torn between being understanding and apologetic. It spurred the words out of Jemma then. "But the problem is, I have no idea how he feels about me. We get along and then we don't, and he flirts with me and then jumps back when we're too close." Jemma took a breath and shook her head. "I don't know what to do any more than I know how I feel."

A moment later, she was being pulled into a hug; Jemma turned and embraced it, tucking herself into Bobbi's side. Hugs solved everything. "Well, at the very least, you should be honest with yourself," Bobbi told her then. She released Jemma just enough so they could be facing each other again. "And honest with him."

Jemma swallowed at that. She'd never outright lie to Fitz, but that didn't mean she was being honest, either. She tried to explain, but Bobbi kept going.  

"You also need to know that life in general is a roller coaster, and love is one hell of a ride."

Jemma smiled a bit, trying to put on a braver face than what she actually felt. Feelings were terrible. "But is the ride worth it?" she asked quietly.

Bobbi shrugged at that. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."

"Hey!"

"But Jemma," Bobbi added, ignoring Lance completely even though Jemma was laughing, "you have to get on the ride to know. If there's something you want to tell him, don't wait. You won't have a seat open forever."

Somehow that didn't really make Jemma feel any better. She didn't really know how to reply, but she must have mumbled something good enough because Bobbi released her from her interrogation. The rest of the evening passed as if she was in a daze - Bobbi ordered something, the food arrived and she and Hunter spent twice as long eating it because they were feeding each other, but later Bobbi snapped at Lance when he left his dishes all over the place. They both didn't pay much attention to Jemma musing to herself for most of the rest of the night.

Getting on a ride meant taking a risk. It meant acknowledging that it was either get in or get out, no more stand still. Something had to happen, something had to change. She had to be honest.

And if she was being really honest, well, then she had to admit that Bobbi was wrong about one thing -- she'd already somehow found herself in the middle of the ride. She kept getting that swooping feeling in her stomach when he'd look at her, like going down a hill on a roller coaster with her hands in the air.

Maybe she should enjoy the ride.

\----

Fitz barely made it into the apartment before he could feel the prickling of tears in the corner of his eyes, which only served to annoy him. He sagged, shoulder blades bumping against the door, closing it with his back as he slumped to the floor. He swiped at his eyes before leaning his head back against the door. He wondered if he was hemorrhaging internally -- kind of felt like he was.  He sat there, staring at the ceiling for god knows how long. After taking another shuddering breath, he lifted himself with all the energy he had left and made a beeline directly for the couch, burying his face in one of the cushions, attempting to muffle his groans.

How could he have been so immensely stupid? How could he have misinterpreted her gestures? He was now one of those guys. The type that always assumed that every nice thing a girl did had some romantic intention, even when none was present. The type that didn’t respect...oh god, what if Jemma thought that he only was friendly with her because of his interest?

Fucking hell. How could he have even thought that someone like Jemma Simmons could be interested in him was just astounding. How could Jemma, who could speak so eloquently on any subject, have any desire to be with him, who could barely string three words together into a sentence. His jokes were tired and awkwardly delivered - why wouldn’t she want a bloke who could make her laugh and who could banter with her without interruption? And he was so... _small_ in comparison to the men that Jemma deserved. While Lance was no Trip, he was still clearly very well-muscled and could probably break Fitz in half. And Lance probably made Jemma feel appreciated, while Fitz always made her feel badly or uncomfortable, screwing up her presentation and then making her run out of the apartment....

He was a mess. This whole thing was a mess. They kept pushing at each other, trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. They weren’t even meant to be friends; how could he have even hoped for something more?

No, his foolish fevered dream was over. He needed to back off and give her the space and respect she deserved. There was nothing wrong with being just friendly neighbors, with her being the friend of Skye he’d smile at before he went to work in his room when they hung out.

He needed to move on from Jemma Simmons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Carol is the subject of science safety posters regarding the importance of wearing goggles.
> 
>  
> 
> thank you to lavendergaia for being an amazing beta!


	4. Chapter 4

**8:27 am**

Fitz peeked out of his apartment door the next morning to see if the coast was clear. No Jemma Simmons in sight. He knew he was probably being a little childish, but in his defense, he’d only gotten about a wink of sleep the night before. On top of his thoughts being unbearably loud, not even a pair of headphones, a pillow, and his stuffed monkey over his head could drown out the…. intense passion coming from the apartment next door. All night long.

The corridor was empty. He quickly shut the door behind him and started to speed down the hall, wondering if it was too much to break out into a jog until he reached Mack’s garage. Maybe a day tinkering with some cars could give him ideas... and block Jemma and Lance’s delighted grunts out of his head.

He dropped his eyes to the floor the moment he passed apartment 77, consciously holding his breath. It suddenly struck him that he was a complete idiot -- he should’ve left earlier or something, because he knew she would be leaving for work right about then— 

The second he heard the click of the door lock, he sped up to an awkward half-jog, freedom seconds away, until a -- “Good morning, Fitz!” – stilled his blood. He froze, before taking a deep breath and turning around, steeling his nerves. He was just going to go with the plan – polite hello, like she was any other neighbor. It wouldn’t be that odd. She’d be just another friend of Skye’s he didn’t really know – like Miles. Somehow he always popped up in Skye’s recent stories, but he never met the guy.

But then, he’d just spent the better half of the last ten hours trying to list off all the reasons he didn’t like her. And then why he shouldn’t care, when that list was too short. And then all the things he had to do the next day when he realized he had to stop thinking of her directly if he was going to ignore her. And then he _really_ tried to ignore the way she sounded when she moaned, and hearing her voice now seemed to ring in his ears and for the life of him, he couldn’t look up and face her. Oh, _god_.

“Uh, yeah-- hi, Simmons,” he replied, scratching behind his ear, shifting his weight from foot to foot. There. Hello. Now part two: flee the premises. “Well, I should--” He bumped into the wall as he started to back up, smacking his elbow into it.

“Oh, ffffff--” he hissed, rubbing frantically up his arm. But it wasn’t until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he jerked backwards.

“Are you alright?” Jemma was asking him, and he looked up before he could help himself, up at those wide brown eyes with nothing but concern in them.

 _Laundry_ , he thought. _I have to do laundry, and eat. And sleep. And breathe. And not think. Of Jemma Simmons. God, she’s pretty._

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he immediately responded, snapping upright and holding his elbow to his chest for a moment. “Just, um, just very… late. I need to be going,” he told her, and started for the stairwell.

“I’m headed out, too,” Jemma said from behind him. He stopped when he heard the sound of the elevator _bing!_ “I’ll ride down with you.”

Now he was _really_ regretting not making a run for it when he could have.

“I… uh….” His eyes flickered over to the stairs and then back to where she stood; the normal, non-suspicious "I'm not avoiding you" thing to do would be to ride the lift with her, wasn't it? Bloody hell.

Jemma stepped forward, her expression curious even though she moved slowly. “Are you okay, Fitz?”

He looked up and nodded quickly, shuffling away from the door leading to the stairs while still trying to keep his distance from her. “Yeah, fine.”

Whether she believed him or not didn't seem to matter; she turned back to the elevator and clicked the button again, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. He kept his hands in his pockets, gripping his phone and keys so tightly his hands were clammy.

“This thing is taking forever," she murmured a few moments later. 

All he could do was nod.

“Oh!" Jemma practically jumped, and then whipped out her phone and was beside him before he could do anything about it. "I didn’t get to show you yesterday!”

His surprise stuck in his throat, Fitz widened his eyes while she scrolled through her phone with nothing short of glee on her face. She held it out for him and he blinked at the screen.

“It’s actually a bit strange to drink from," she told him, "and it doesn’t fit in my cupboard all that well, but it’s great. It’s shaped like a bowtie, see? One part of it is the handle, but then the other part is where the tea goes…" Jemma trailed off and he could tell she was watching his face. We was sure was doing a pretty awful job at seeming uninterested. But, come on -- it was a Doctor Who cup shaped like a bow tie. Could anyone blame him? "You sort of… ran off before I could show you." 

The way her voice faltered at the end made him cringe. He kept his eyes on her phone, not really seeing anything anymore at that point, and cleared his throat. “Well, I-- I didn’t want to.. uh, interrupt.”

He clamped his mouth shut when he realized what he'd said. Jemma was too smart not to notice, not to pick up on his word choice.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned." She dropped her phone back into her bag then, so he dropped his eyes to the floor. "The problem is, I’m not really sure what you were interrupting.” 

When he peeked up, she was glancing at him expectantly. Maybe this was good, though. Maybe he should just be honest about it. After all, he was mostly trying to avoid her for her sake. Kind of. 

“I don’t know." He took a breath and tangled his fingers together, mindlessly tugging them. "Just… you and... Lance, and whatever you two were doing, with the tea… and whatever." She was staring at him in bewilderment. "Not that that’s-- obviously, if he’s your boyfriend, you’re allowed to do what you want--even if he’s not, I mean, that’s still--”

“Wha--” she started, but he shook his head. Rip the bandaid off, just _say it._

“Look, I’m sorry, I know you were trying to be polite and invite me in--”

Her eyes widened. “Fitz--”

“But, I get it. It’s fine. You’re very--" _sweet, and kind and smart and wonderful and lovely and it's ruining my life because I just want to kiss you_. No, no, no, no. He shook his head almost violently. Nope, honesty was too painful -- flee the premises it was. "You know what, I’m just going to take the stairs, I’m already running late--”

“ _Wait_ , Fitz. I think you’ve-- We need to talk about this--” She sounded as frantic as he felt.

He turned to face her, but didn't manage to lift his eyes to quite meet hers, so he scratched at his face nervously again. “You don’t have to-- there’s nothing to discuss, Jemma."

It surprised him when she grabbed his hand, a jolt shooting through him, and he found her eyes before he could stop himself. “Maybe there is," she insisted earnestly, with a swirl of emotion in her gaze. " _Especially_ if you think that _Lance Hunter_ is--”

The door of the elevator swung open at last, and three men stepped out, apologizing. “Sorry,” Fitz said immediately, moving out of the way at the same time that Jemma dropped his hand and murmured, “Excuse me.”

Unfortunately, the three of them-- all identical, Fitz rubbed his eyes to be sure-- maneuvered around him on all sides, leaving him with nowhere to go but straight into the lift. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply when he heard her step on alongside him.

This was not going to end well.

“Fitz--” Jemma started,

“I think--” he started, turning around slowly so he could keep his back to her as long as possible.

“ _Please_ let me go first--” 

“I know, but I’ve got--”

“There’s something I need to address-- No! Look, I --“ she started when the doors closed and the elevator began to go down. But instead of finishing her sentence, Jemma let out a yelp when the elevator suddenly jerked. It screeched to a violent halt, knocking them both into separate walls. Almost instantly, the lights went out. The only orienteering mark Fitz could see in the dark was the red emergency button, as the whole lift seemed to sway back and forth ever so slightly.

As he heard her curse under her breath, he quickly realized that they were trapped. Trapped…

The darkness suddenly felt suffocating; his collar was too tight and the red alarm button was too far away for him to reach. He clutched at the wall behind him, feeling the solidness of it under his fingers. He couldn’t break out. He was closed in this box and he couldn’t get out. His back slid down the wall as he began to undo the top button at his collar, hands shaking and sweating, his fingers sliding off the button.

His breath quickened as his throat strained against the tightness of his collar. He needed air, why wouldn’t it unbutton? He was going to suffocate! It needed to come open. But his sweaty shaking fingers couldn’t do it. He began to claw helplessly at his collar as he took deeper and deeper breathes. He’d never make it out. He was alone and trapped and he’d die here....

“Fitz!” he suddenly heard in the darkness, although he couldn’t really focus on the voice, only able to concentrate on his desperate gasps for air.

“Ward, please,” he begged. “Please help me.” Why was he even asking? He knew what the answer would be.

“No, no, no. Fitz! Fitz, please, listen to my voice,” he heard again, the kind voice a beacon of warmth – a light in the darkness. 

“It’s Jemma Simmons,” the voice continued, “I’m with you. I need you to take a deep breath. Fitz, can you do that for me?” 

Jemma? Why was Jemma here with him at the bottom of the ocean?

“Can you focus on me?” she asked him, and he felt fingers gripping his own at his collar and pulling them down. “I’m right here. Focus on me.”

He couldn’t be at the bottom of the ocean if she was here, and she was definitely there. Her hands were anchoring him to reality, fizzy and distant as it was …

“I want you to keep listening to my voice, and I want you to try and breathe more slowly. Can you do that for me?” He thought he nodded. “Try following me. Inhale and hold.” He heard her inhale deeply, and then silence.

Okay, he could do that. He inhaled, but then holding his breath tightened his chest and sent him further into panic, and he began inhaling quickly again.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay - you’re okay. You’re doing great. Let’s try again.” The kindness of her voice soothed him for a moment. That, and the coolness of what felt like hands on his burning cheeks. “Inhale, hold.”

This time, he was holding it, but right before he could slide into panic again she called to him to release his breath. 

Under Jemma’s gentle tutelage, he finally began to regain control over himself and his breath.

The ringing in his head was subsiding more slowly, though. “Are you okay?” she asked him softly. Jemma sat next to him now, grasping his hand as he sat, still working on normalizing his breathing. His chest ached and his lungs burned from the hyperventilation.

“Yeah,” he replied. As the panic slowly sank out of him, the shame of what had just transpired rose like bile in his throat. He was glad it was so dark so she couldn’t see how red his face might be right now.

 She moved her hand to rub his shoulder and he focused on that feeling instead of his lungs pressing against his ribs as he still tried to steady his breath.  Part of him wanted her to leave him alone, to prove that he could handle this. But, the much larger part of him knew he was too out of breath to really do anything right then. He shut his eyes as memories started to flood through his mind, hot red embarrassment and anger swirling together inside of him.

 “What happened?” he asked when he could find his voice.

 Her hand stilled, and he heard her shuffling beside him. “I don’t know,” she told him, and her hand dropped from his shoulder completely. “The power… something must have turned the power off.”

When he looked up, it was pretty much pointless, the blackness laying a thick layer over everything. He couldn’t make out his hands in front of his face. “But the power…” he mumbled, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath. “The power of the elevator is on a separate… uh, separate line than the building.”

“I was thinking about that, too,” Jemma replied, and from the corner of his eye he noticed a bright light. She was looking at her phone, the shadow of her face the only thing he could clearly make out when he looked over at her. “I don’t have any signal,” she told him then, holding out her phone to show him. “I always get signal in here.” 

Fitz fumbled through his pockets, his hand shaking slightly as he grabbed out his own phone.

Sure enough—“Me, neither.”

It was quiet, but he could hear her thinking, thinking the same thing he was.

“The cell towers are down,” she murmured eventually, her head turning towards him, her mouth opening in an ‘o’.

Well bloody shit. He could feel his heart rate increasing, panic looming in on him again. This was not good. _This was not good._ “So, what? Is there—what’s—maybe a... A, uh—“

“The power wouldn’t have gone out _and_ the cell towers wouldn’t be off if it wasn’t—“ Jemma started, but her voice hitched at the end, too, like she didn’t want to say what she was thinking, for fear that saying it would make it real.

“A—terrorist attack?” he finally said, pressing the button of his cell when hers turned off and then they were sitting in darkness again.

“Hell if I know,” she told him, turning to look at the doors of the elevator in front of them. He could make her out a bit better now, and he watched her open and close her mouth a couple of times before looking back to him and frowning. “But something must have happened…”

 “So, what?” he asked her, gesturing towards the door. “Should we just—sit here? Wait?” He held up the hand with his phone and used his other to push himself up. The room was tilting when he was on his feet. His knees didn’t appreciate the sudden movement either, but he held onto the wall to steady himself anyway. Jemma was saying something beside him, also getting to her feet, but the rush of blood in his ears drowned her out.

“… do is wait, we can’t open those doors,” she was saying. Her hand was back on his shoulder again. 

“Wait?” he asked, barely registering what she was saying. “No one’s looking for us.”

She shook her head. “They have to search the buildings, they’ll have to open the elevator eventually, we should—“ 

Fitz felt himself back up until he was pressed against the wall. _Wait… eventually…_ Jemma’s phone was suddenly in his face. She was pushing him down, ignoring the frustrated noise he made in the back of his throat. His body slid down regardless of his protest. She was saying something about resting and sitting. 

“You need to calm down,” Jemma said, kneeling in front of him. “You need to—“

Both of them jumped slightly when a loud _click_ sounded, and red lights near the top of the elevator turned on. Fitz glanced up at them, a small sense of relief washing over him. It wasn’t much, but at least it wasn’t pure darkness anymore. Jemma was smiling slightly when he caught her eye again. 

“Backup generators,” they said in unison.  Jemma moved to sit with her back on the wall next to his right.

“We just have to wait,” she repeated, nodding to herself.

This was not going to end well.

 

**10:39 am**

Fitz was still sitting with his knees up, but his shoulders were less tense. His face was almost blank and strangely serious -- the effect of the red light, Jemma supposed. She tried not to stare much, but her eyes kept wandering over to him anyway. Maybe it was still lingering concern, maybe it was boredom, she didn’t really know. She’d stopped checking her phone for the time every fifteen seconds, and so she had nothing much else to do.

Apparently, the red lights were _not_ back up generators, per se. At least, it didn’t give any moving power to the elevator at all. Fitz had even tried to press the intercom button, just to check, but no one had answered -- they didn’t even know if it’d gone through. They were truly alone in there.

He had tried to talk through some ‘escape routes’ earlier, when he’d calmed down, but they were all horrible. All of them included using materials they didn’t have with them (“I don’t carry around a screwdriver with me, _you’re_ the engineer, for God’s sake”), or the two of them ending up in a worse position than now (“so I climb out to the elevator shaft, and then-- what? Scale the inside of the building?”, “No, you can’t ram into the doors, you’ll break your arm”).

But _once_ he’d calmed down and it didn’t feel like either of them were going mad in there, a new wave of emotion washed over them. Namely awkwardness. What exactly does one _do_ when they’re waiting for someone to turn the power back on or open the elevator up, except sit there and think? And in her case, think about the person who was sitting there with her and the conversation that’d been interrupted? She tried to turn her thoughts back to her antiserum project, but it seemed that even science couldn’t distract her today.

Because, there they were -- stuck together, just him and her, with a lot of unsaid words between them. A _lot_ more than she’d originally thought, apparently. Not for the first time since they settled in the elevator did she think about pressing on with their earlier conversation, but where did she even start?

 _Well, so, Fitz, just to be clear, what_ exactly _did you think you were interrupting Hunter and I from doing?_

She glanced back at him, instinctively rolling her eyes at imaginary him for even _thinking_ such a thing, but instantly turned her eyes down when they met his. A rush of warmth flooded her and she started shifting around, trying to be inconspicuous in the way she was pulling at the flap of her collar, suddenly flushed. There was no way she could push herself further back against the wall, but that didn’t stop her from trying. He was moving, too, and stopped eventually to let out a cough in the back of his throat, the sound echoing.

“Hmm?” Jemma asked, just a little too high.

Fitz shook his head.  He waved a dismissive hand, muttering something like "I'm fine," and dropped his head onto his knees again, letting out a deep sigh.

 _Somehow I doubt that_ , she thought, staring at the top of his head, as if willing him to talk to her. If she could harvest the power of the awkwardness in that room right then, they’d have enough self-sustaining energy for the entire city. Maybe she should... Or she could... 

She sighed. Or, she could do nothing too.

Well, then. Silence it was.

**11:47 am**

Sometime over the course of sitting there, Fitz had slid down until his head was resting on the ground. He kept his knees up, though, trying his hardest not to intrude on Simmons’ space. But from where he was situated, he just had to tilt his head a smidge and he could make out her profile, better now that his eyes had adjusted to the red light. She was staring up toward the ceiling, head against the wall, just like the last forty odd times he’d checked. He hoped she wouldn’t notice him staring…or notice him in general. When his mind started to clear up, all he could think about how all of this could’ve been avoided if he’d taken the stairs like he’d wanted in the first place. But, the thought of Jemma alone in the elevator was worse that this, so he could bear it. Then he thought of _why_ he’d wanted to take the stairs in the first place, and the conversation that was cut short and left hanging….

If things worked out, he just had to stay on his side on the lift, and she would stay on hers, and they wouldn’t even notice each other --

But, of course, a huge rumble from the depths of his stomach betrayed him.

Her eyes snapped to him. “Was that—”

He felt his face flush red, probably brighter than the light on his face. “Yeah, sorry. I, uh… I’m…”

“Hungry?” she asked, not unkindly.

 _Starving,_ more like it. “A bit,” he admitted.

Jemma shifted, looking back up at the ceiling, talking as if she was saying the first thing that came to mind. “Well, it _is_ almost noon, it’s about lunch time. And coming off of high levels of stress raises the appetite.” She glanced his way, motioning randomly in the air. “Not that—I’m not sure if that’s the case with _you_ , I sort of feel more at ease— 

“What?” He tried not to stiffen at her words, knowing he was imagining her little slur about why he would be uncomfortable in the elevator.

She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment and inhaling. “Nothing, I’m just rambling. I tend to go on about things when I’m trying to figure something else out,” she explained, peeking at him from the corner of her eye and giving him a sort of sad smile.

“Oh.” He adjusted himself again, letting out a small groan when he felt how much his arm was prickling. The way he has been sitting pinched a few nerves. “Well, uh… to be honest, I’m just—I’m hungry most of the time, anyway,” he said, shrugging. “Stress or no stress.”

She nodded thoughtfully, understandingly, and he almost felt embarrassed. But his hunger outweighed just about every other emotion at this point.

Reaching forward for her bag that’d been shoved aside near her feet, she started rummaging through it. She huffed a couple of times before seemingly giving up and grabbing her phone for aid.

“What are you—” he started, leaning closer to her to see, but then she pulled out a plastic bag with a white rectangular shape in it. As she opened the bag, a whiff of heaven wafted into the air. Pavlov would be rather impressed with how quickly his mouth watered.

“Fate favors the prepared,” Jemma told him, holding up the package with a grin; she looked so smug and oddly determined, he stared at her for a few moments to just take it in.

But then her words finally made it to his brain and he frowned in confusion. “You knew we would get stuck in an elevator?”

“No,” she said, reaching in the bag, “I knew I’d have to bribe you with food to talk to me.”

Instantly, his face was hot, and he spent more than a few moments sputtering some type of reply to that, before she cut him off with a rueful laugh. “I’m joking. I pack my lunch every day for work.” 

She was teasing him, wasn’t she? He had no idea how to respond to that and she seemed to know it; she stopped reaching for whatever it was and just watched him. Jemma Simmons had teased him. He was well aware that his mouth just opened and closed a few times, but loosening his jaw didn’t seem to help at all. Eventually, he settled on, “Oh.” 

But that must have been a decent enough answer, because she smiled, scrunching up her nose, and then resumed pulling whatever it was out. It was a sandwich, he realized, as she unwrapped the white napkin around it and held it out towards him.

“Would you like half?” she asked.

Jemma had barely said the words before he reached out and took it. “Yes, please.” 

For one measly split second he thought about how overly eager and ridiculous he was being, but Jemma smiled when he looked up at her in hesitance. She was probably annoyed with his grumbling stomach by then, anyway. 

So he took a bite, and promptly died of happiness. “Fis is aMAYshing, wha is it?”

She was staring at him with obvious repulsion on her face, so he swallowed and tried to wipe his face with his sleeve, turning his head to the side so she couldn’t see. She did, of course, and laughed when he repeated the question again. “Prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella, with a hint of pesto aioli,” Jemma responded promptly. “Pesto made with basil leaves from Trip’s garden, actually.”

 “Really?” Fitz must have sounded too surprised to be casual, because Jemma now looked at him in confusion. ” I just meant—he’s very… versatile.”

 She nodded and then leaned back against the wall. It was only then that he noticed he’d somehow shifted, moving to sit next to her until they were mere inches from pressing their shoulders together. She didn’t seem to be aware, eyes glancing back up at the ceiling. “Oh yes, he’s quite talented. Some of the things he’s done, you’d think he’s lived a couple of lifetimes.” Jemma took a bite and chewed before continuing, “when I met him, he was teaching my EMT class, and he’d just come out of the military—“

“Military?”

“As a doctor,” she explained. “But he’s done some really miraculous things in the field. He was telling us one class how his squad had been ambushed and he got hit by shrapnel - right in the stomach! But he survived it, against all odds. He didn’t tell us how, although I’ve been wracking my brain to come to a solution. Stomach wounds are…” she paused. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry, Fitz, I’m—I keep rambling on.”

His mouth was open; he’d stopped eating when she mentioned the shrapnel. She glanced at him, biting one corner of her lip. Somehow watching her teeth dig into her lip distracted him from whatever nausea he felt before.

Fitz shook his head, swallowing a bite before waving a hand in the air. “No, no, you’re fine. What are you thinking about?” he added as a second thought.

“What?”

“You said you ramble when you’re thinking?”

Her eyes widened as she set the sandwich on her lap. He frowned when he realized he was distracting her from eating, but Jemma didn’t notice. “Oh! Actually, I was supposed to be at a meeting today to work on solving the antiserum problem I was telling you about awhile back. We still haven’t been able to make it work, unfortunately.” She gave him a half smile, clearly more frustrated than she wanted to let on. “Ah, well. Perhaps this is the universe’s way of telling me I’m not going to solve it.”

He knew the type of helplessness she was talking about, where it seemed like the answer was _right there_ , the problem to the solution right under his nose, but he was too blind to see it. He was having the same problem because of that damned virus, he didn’t know how to deal with complicated biology. He just needed to think of a new design that would work with the antiserum. She was wrong, though, he thought. The universe was lucky to have Jemma Simmons around, to find cures and make sandwiches. There was no way it would rebel against something as pure as her. It had to be something else. 

He had been lost in his head for a moment too long, so Jemma had moved on and started to eat. He waited until she was almost finished before telling her, “We’ll get a solution here. You’ll—You’ll solve it.” She looked at him curiously, so he shrugged. “If anyone could figure this out… I mean, you haven’t found a problem you couldn’t solve eventually, yeah? You’ll figure it out. You’ll get that antiserum right.”

The look she gave him then made the hair on the back of his neck stand up -- she had her eyebrows raised, giving him a look akin to shock-- pleasantly surprised, maybe? At least more relieved than he’d seen her in a while. “Thank you, Fitz, I appreciate it,” she said, and put her hand on top of his knee that was bent.

 “Yeah—yep,” he managed, feeling the heat of her hand seeping into his skin and keeping him there. “And...Thank you for the, uh, sandwich,” he thought to add when he finally drew his eyes away from her hand on his knee, to the half eaten sandwich still sitting on her lap. “It was really delicious, just what I needed.”

When he glanced up at her, again, she was smiling rather brightly. “Me too.”    

 

**1:24 pm**

“Is it a she?”

“Naturally,” she rolled her eyes at him. There were so many amazing women in the world, and yet people didn’t choose them often enough in this game.

“A scientist?”

“Of course.” 

“Not biology?” 

“No.” 

“Hmm.” Jemma tried to keep herself from staring when he started absently scratching at the hair on the side of his jaw. It wasn’t her fault that he had rolled up his sleeves and now was gesticulating as he thought about what to ask next. “Chemist?”

 “Partially.”

“A partial chemist… Oh god, is she _English_?” His tone was slightly derisive there, but there was a twinkle in his eye that assured him he was teasing her.

“No, she is not.”

His face suddenly broke into a grin, and she felt her breath catching in her throat. She had never really seen him look this at ease - smiling really became him. That was just a scientific observation, of course. “Has she won a Nobel Prize?”

“Yes.” She looked down, knowing he’d figured it out. But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that yet.

His tone had become a little haughty now, but she didn’t mind. In fact, it almost pleased her that he was finally acting confident. “Physics, I take it?”

“How did you know?”

“Your whole face lit up when I mentioned the Nobel Prize.”

“Well, she was the first woman to receive one, can you blame me? What?” The intensity of his stare threw her off for a moment, though it lightened the moment she asked him about it.

“Nothing, ‘s nothing. My turn?”

“Oh Fitz. It’s not going to be another monkey, is it?”

“... Alright, your turn again,” and as he nudged her every so lightly she felt her breath hitch again.

**3:56 pm**

“Aren’t there any movies about getting out of elevators?” Jemma asked him once several silly games and a few riveting discussions had slowly died down.

“Probably a scary one, but those generally focus on _not_ getting out and dying instead,” he replied.

“Lovely.”

He quickly tried to explain. “Sorry, Skye and Trip watch a lot of scary movies when they’re over." 

“Yes, Skye told me you forced her to watch Paranormal Activity with her the other weekend.” Her look was almost accusatory.

 “Hey! I didn’t _force_ her to do anything. As if that’s possible… Well, maybe—“

“Not even Trip,” Jemma interrupted, clearly knowing where his thought was headed.

He smirked when she gave him that challenging look. “Hah, yeah. Maybe not.”

She leaned her head back against the elevator wall, and he stared at her profile for a moment. This was probably the first real pause in their conversation in a very long time since they finally started talking in the elevator. Science was always the easiest thing for him to talk about. But they'd ventured off past the science and he wasn't cringing or tiptoeing anymore; the conversation was so natural and easy. It was...  nice.

It was another second before he realized she was staring back at him. Her gaze was steady, her features soft; he couldn't look away, even though he'd been caught. “She’s really good for him, though, I think,” she told him quietly. “I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.”

It took him a moment to remember the previous conversation. “Skye, either,” he nodded vigorously. “She’s… been through a lot, lately. It’s been nice to have Trip around.”

“Yes, it’s been really great, with the four of us. I’m really glad we’re all friends.”

He blinked at her, then, unsure if she was just saying that because he was there. “Me too," he agreed anyway, trying to smile. She didn't respond after that, picking lint off of herself, so he went on, half joking, "I wonder what everyone else is doing and what’s happening out there.”

“Hmm. Do you think our roommates have noticed we’re gone?”

“Nah. I haven’t seen Skye for the last couple of days.”

Her head snapped up. “Oh really?“ Jemma’s look and voice were suddenly sharp; he almost flinched.

“What?”

“Did you not help her yesterday? Or—I suppose I assumed you were meeting up with her, and that’s why you left so quickly. That’s what you said, after all.”

His eyes grew wide as he felt his face heating up, catching his mistake. This was why he kept to science! He couldn't lie about that! “Ah, no, no. I was… she left the oven on, and I had to go turn it off immediately. Fire, uh, fire would be bad. And the energy bill is already through the roof, you know.”

Jemma stared at him for a second, the same look from before, like there was something she wanted to say but wasn't. The pathetically awkward laugh he let out after that seemed to help her decide against saying whatever it was she was thinking about; she rolled her eyes at him and settled against the wall again.

“Yes, especially when you’re tweaking with things you shouldn’t be and causing blackouts," she said, almost curtly. But then she smiled and he let out a breath. Teasing again.

“One time, Simmons. I fixed it, didn’t I?”

 “Yes, you did. Fix it Fitz.”

“Ha ha, very funny, you.” Her grin was contagious, no matter how hard he tried to resist.

“No, really, I’m quite envious.  You two care a lot about each other; Skye said you’ve really helped fix a lot of things in her life, and not just burnt out bulbs. She’s very lucky to have you as a roommate.” Her tone was light, unassuming, but it was still lucky that she wasn’t looking at him when she said it. His expression would’ve given away a lot more than he was willing to right then.

“Well, you—I mean, your—your roommate…” Fitz trailed off, unsure if he really wanted to go there, but finishing off anyway. “He’s not – you guys get on, yeah?” There was an innuendo in there he was going to ignore.

“Who?” Jemma asked, as if she was genuinely curious.

“Your—Lance?” Fitz became very interested in his hands all of sudden.

“Do Lance and I get on? Or my roommate and I?”

“Um…” Fitz blinked at her, very confused. “Both? I thought that, well —” 

“Lance is not my roommate,” Jemma said, this time looking him right in the eye, and he froze under her gaze.    

“Oh?” His heart had begun to hammer resoundingly and he wondered if the sound was deafening to her as well.

“Bobbi, my roommate—he’s her boyfriend. He comes over and bothers me whenever she’s around—which isn’t all that often. She’s a consultant; she travels all over the world for her work. And I do actually get on rather well with her —whenever she’s home, that is. And Lance… I love him for the annoying prat he is, but…” And then she was grinning, and he felt the tips of his ears burn because he knew where the conversation was going. “But Lance is not my roommate. Or anything else more significant than that.”

“Oh.”

She smiled at him, shaking her head, and for about the thousandth time, he was so glad the light in the elevator was terribly and she couldn't see him blushing. But, of course she wouldn’t stop there, she had to tease him endlessly.

“Yes, so, whatever you thought you were interrupting yesterday —”

Fitz cut her off. “Hey, you thought that Skye and I were something significantly more than just roommates, remember? It’s not so odd to assume that of the other person in the apartment, especially when they’re uh…” He fumbled, not really wanting to remind him (or her) of how Lance looked in that towel. The comparison would not favor him at all. “It-it wasn’t weird of me to assume that.”

Jemma nodded, a little half heartedly, if you asked him. “True. But even so— _him_?”

“I still think it’s more ridiculous to consider Skye and me than you and Lance,” he shot back.

She let out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not, but I suppose you don’t really know Lance to make a judgment on that.”

“No, I only meant—” Fitz sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, thinking again how he could talk anything from wires to atomic force microscopy for hours without hesitation, but talking about Jemma was a whole new discipline he could never hope to understand. “Not just Lance,” he told her.. “Like —Trip, or, or… any other bloke, really. You could have anything - or _anyone_ \- you wanted. So I just meant… it’s easier to believe that you did have someone than to believe that we were involved. The uh, we being Skye and me, that is.”   

When he finally looked up, her gze was inscrutable. “I’m sorry,” he started. _Shit._ He had clearly crossed a line.

“Fitz, I —” But she stopped, taking a breath. 

“I didn’t mean to assume. Or to be offensive,” he added quickly.

Jemma half sighed, almost like a laugh, and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You’re quite alright.” It didn’t really seem like it, though, not when she kept staring at him like that, like before. “Although,” she said, clearing her throat, “I don’t think either Bobbi or Skye would appreciate me taking their boyfriends.”

“I wasn’t — you know what I meant,” he said pointedly, to which she smile. He thought it seemed genuine.

“Yes, I know. I just don’t think you’re right about all that.” Before he could question it, she looked down at her hands and clarified, “I don’t think I could have anything I wanted.” It had to be his imagination, really, that made him hear a bit of exasperation in her voice. “If that were true, I’d have a functioning antiserum delivery system by now,” she said. “Or a mobile lab, or —”

“A mobile lab? Why on Earth would you ever want a mobile lab?”

“To _see_ the Earth, for one,” she responded, rolling her eyes.

“That’s impractical. And mad,” Fitz insisted, shaking his head. “It’s so dangerous, constantly transporting all those chemicals you use. What if you got into an accident?”

“Ugh, Fitz.”

As she explained herself, he was sure that his imagination could never do the image of Jemma Simmons trying to prove him wrong justice. The way her eyes light up, the way she punctuated certain words for effect, smiling too widely when she left him speechless (for only a moment, though). He almost forgot they stuck in an elevator.

Almost.

 

**6:13 pm**

A shiver ran through him. Again. “It’s starting to get bloody cold in here,” he grumbled, pulling up the collar of his shirt so it was covering his ears, though it did little to help his icy extremities. If it weren’t so cold in there, he’d have fallen asleep. They'd stopped talking again.

Jemma chuckled. “Maybe that’s because you’ve stopped moving around all the time,” she pointed out.

He ignored the jab. “Aren’t you cold?” Fitz glanced over to her, noticing the way her arms were folded around herself.

“Oh, of course I am,” she confirmed, nodding at him with an almost indifferent stare. “I’ve just been mostly cold this entire time.” She pulled her knees up to her body then and linked her fingers around her ankles.

His heart sank. There she was, silently keeping quiet about her discomfort when he was complaining at the first sign of it.

He mirrored her movement though, noting instantly how unhelpful it was for generating heat what so ever. “I’m sorry.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes when she noticed how he situated himself. God, the next time she rolled her eyes, he was sure they’d get stuck, she kept rolling them so much at him. “It’s fine,” she insisted. “I don’t suspect we’ll be in here much longer,” she added, after an awkward shrug.

She was a terrible liar. Or maybe it was just the way her teeth were starting to clunk together that made her words seem less hopeful, more nervous and perhaps a bit concerned. She put her nose in between knees then, tucking her head into herself. Fitz frowned. Yeah, she was definitely a terrible liar…and very clearly miserable out of her mind.

Once he realized that, he didn’t hesitate to scoot closer to her, pulling his arm closest to her free and holding it out. He didn’t quite touch her shoulder, though. “C’mere,” he said instead, clearing his throat.

She lifted her head quickly, her eyes wide when she saw him so startlingly close. “What?”

 _Oh, fuck_. Was he making her uncomfortable? “It’s just…um…” he motioned to his side and then back to her. “Body heat helps.”

For the next slow, aching moment in which he considered scooting to the opposite corner and not coming out until they were found, Jemma simply stared at him. But then she shifted, and her arm reached for his side. “It does,” she agreed, almost tentatively. “Is this—“

“Yeah, should I— Is this--”

 “Um, maybe put your hand--” 

“Right, right. Is that- Is this okay?”

“Yeah, this is great.”

She had looped her arm around his waist, while his went around her shoulder. She was so close, _so_ close, he couldn't pull her more to his side anymore if he tried. Her knees, too, were angled towards him, tucked up against his hip and spilling over into his lap. Any of these alone would have been the end of him, especially all together. But it was the touch of her face that made him feel like his heart had stopped. Jemma almost jumped when he shivered violently at the sensation of her against him, but he calmed himself enough so she was resting against him again. Her chin was on his shoulder, nose pressed against his neck, her breath hot against his skin.

"Thank you." Though he knew that she was whispering, the words rang in his ear anyway.

“Mmhm.”

Neither of them said anything after that, but Fitz was struck by how comforting the silence now was once it settled around them. He turned his head to look ahead, and she adjusted hers to press her cheek on his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he wondered aloud some time after and felt her shrug against him.

“I’m fine,” she told him. “I think my blood sugar’s just a little low, that’s all.”

That, he could agree with. His stomach had been grumbling for the past two hours. “Have anything else stored away?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I guess this will have to do,” he mumbled. 

She sighed against his shoulder, tightening her hold around his waist. He was not going to have any problem heating up anymore. “I guess so,” she whispered.

Sometime during this quiet haze, his hand started moving up and down her arm to try and warm her more, and she clung to the front of his shirt, her fist grasping the fabric as she tried to keep herself from shivering. If he was honest with himself, he was actually getting _more_ shivers up his spine. Especially when she sighed against him, her grip loosening as she began dozing off against him. When he turned his head, he just had to lean forward half an inch and his mouth could press to her forehead.

But sudden pain clenched his leg and he jolted in surprise, scattering his thoughts. Jemma shuddered awake, staring at him in confusion from just being woken up.

“Sorry,” he fumbled.

“Are you alright?” she asked, the drowsiness still in her voice.

 “Yeah, my leg just fell asleep.” Fitz hated that he had woken her. He tried to adjust his leg quickly so that she could go back to sleep, but found that he couldn’t really do that when his leg was the one that was asleep.

It took him a moment to realize that the way they had shifted, they were now facing each other, breathes separating them. Her warm, brown eyes peered at him with an emotion he couldn’t place, and her lips looked so soft, glistening now in the dull light as she flicked her tongue over them. Before he could think, he felt his lips lean towards hers, his mind and heart united by a single drive that had wiped out all other thought. And, if his senses weren’t tricking him, he felt her move towards him as well

His stomach dropped out from under him as his lips grazed hers and he felt a definite adrenaline spike. Good god – had it been that long since he’d kissed someone? Was this normal? As the feeling continued, he suddenly realized:

_The elevator was falling._

 

\----

Warm hands were grasping her shoulders, but she shoved against them, frantically, until she heard a voice. “Simmons? Sim—Jemma! Hey, hey, hey, c’mon, Jemma.” The sound of her name helped ground her. “You’re okay, I promise you’re ok. I’m here. You’re fine.”

When she opened her eyes, Fitz was above her, trying to pull her into a sitting position. The lights were flickering, and she’d somehow ended up on floor. She wiped at her forehead, which was suddenly dripping with sweat; she was shivering like mad.

“I— we fell?” Jemma tried, her voice squeaking at the end. Fitz pushed the hair out of her face gently, crouching down in front of her.

“Yeah, the lift,” he motioned over to the control panel, “it must-something must have jumbled, but it stopped. We’re okay.”

Her lungs were burning, but she focused on his eyes to keep herself from hyperventilating. “I’m sorry—“

“No, no, don’t be,” he insisted. Perhaps everything seemed quieter because her own breath seemed amplified, but he sounded like he was whispering. She placed a hand onto his that was holding her face. “I’m sorry that I woke you up,” he continued.

She shook her head, closing her eyes. “I didn’t mean to scream like that, I…" When she dropped her hand from his, he didn't let go of her face right away, his thumb brushing her jaw lightly. She felt a twinge of disappointment as he finally moved it down to rub down her arm. "I just don’t like falling all that much. Lots of bad experiences with falling,” she mumbled.

If she was going to get some air, she was going to need to stand up, she decided; she felt cornered on the floor. Fitz immediately helped her up when he caught drift of what she wanted to do, gripping one hand tightly while placing the other on the small of her back. "I'm okay," she told him as she inhaled sharply, placing her other hand on his shoulder. "I just wasn't expecting it."

Fitz nodded, stepping away from her when her breath steadied. She watched carefully as he reached up and thread his fingers through his hair, tugging insistently through the curls. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry we’re stuck in this, Jemma.” he groaned and rubbed at his face. “Damn elevator! Bloody hell, we’ve been in here for _hours!_ ”

“If it’s as serious as we think it is, I’m sure they’re doing everything they can.” She didn’t know if he could tell she was lying.

“I know, but I’m so—Jemma, you’re still shaking. Are you alright?” He closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around her again.

Jemma squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the crescendo of panic, but all she could see was open air and an ocean and falling and no parachute -- “I _really_ don’t like falling," she practically hissed, her arms tight against his chest.

Fitz let go, freeing her to continue rubbing frantically at her eyes, hoping it would stop her tears. “Here,” she heard him say. 

She opened her eyes to see him thrusting his sweater at her.

“Thank you,” she managed.

"Do you need to sit --" he started, but she shook her head. After she slipped on his sweater, she put her hands over her head and breathed in slowly.

“What time is it?” she asked, trying to distract herself. 

Fitz glanced at his watch. “7:21.”

Jemma nodded to herself, closing her eyes and counting each breath, her heartbeat slowly steading.

He chose to pace again, though, waves of irritation flowing off of him. His shoulders tense and face grim, he kept mumbling under his breath.

“Fitz, this isn’t your fault.” If anything it was her fault. She had been the one to insist they ride the elevator; he’d clearly wanted to take the stairs.

“It’s… this is… bloody hell. I’m sorry, I know I’m being, uh… unhelpful right now, this shouldn't have happened, and I’m just—“ He sighed again.

Her heart clenched to see him blaming himself like that. She reached over and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Frustrated,” she finished when he gazed over at her. 

“Yeah.” Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily.

"It's okay, Fitz, it's not your fault,” she repeated. 

“I’m going to get us out of here, though. Don’t worry about it, Ward.”

“Ward?”

He froze noticeably. She let her hand slide off his shoulder and drop to her side, as he scrambled to reply. “What? Who—“

“You just called me Ward.”

“Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean—I don’t know where that came from. Sorry, Simmons.”

“Was he the one that left you, in the ocean? Ward?” she insisted. She knew what had happened, but she didn’t think it was fair that she didn’t know it from him. Besides, this man had clearly hurt Fitz. She was sure he’d feel better about it if he talked about his feelings. 

“How—how did you know that?” he choked out.

“I—Skye—” she stumbled, realizing she hadn’t thought things completely through. She never fared well without preparation.

“ _Skye_ told you? She had no right to tell you—”

She winced as his face flushed, scathing anger in his face. “No, she—she didn’t—I overheard— but she didn’t really say what—she was just explaining to Trip—”

“So you knew, you knew this entire time.” His tone was acidic.

 “Well, I always knew something must’ve—” she tried to explain.

That clearly was the wrong thing to say, however, and she would’ve winced anyway, even if he hadn’t spat back viciously, moving away from her, “Oh, yes, because I’m just so obviously this horribly _damaged_ person—”

“No. No, of course not. That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Jemma was beginning to feel desperate. This was not at all how she imagined the conversation going, and she almost regretted bringing it up.

“So this is why you’ve been nicer to me,” he seethed, glaring. “Because you think you have to—”

With those words, something inside her snapped and she retaliated. “ _What_? I have to have a _motive_ to be nice to you? I just overheard a conversation, for God’s sake! Between _your_ roommate and her boyfriend, I might add— and I’m the one at fault here?” How dare he accuse her of faking her kindness towards him?! After she had spent so long trying to get him to like her!

“Because you’ve always—you’re just always babying me and treating me like I’m useless. Just because I can’t speak as-as eloquently as you, or-or have every answer at the drop of a hat, does not mean that I’m not cap-capable—”

She recoiled, stunned. Useless? How could he even assume that she would think that of him? She spent half her waking time impressed with his ideas and his…this was getting ridiculous. “Stop it, stop willfully misinterpreting me.”

“I’m not _willfully_... just what?!" he retorted angrily. “It’s a real observation, Simmons. Ever since we met you’ve filled in for me every single time I couldn’t think of a word. Or laughed at me. Or "Oh Fitz-ed" me. Or you keep _rolling. your. eyes_. If that not a sign of exasperation or annoyance, tell me what it is.” He placed his hands on his hips, as if trying to stare her down.

“You know that’s not what it meant,” she snapped back, biting her tongue to keep her voice level. But she couldn’t fight the tears welling in her eyes and she didn’t want to stop the conversation; they’d been tiptoeing around this for far too long. This whole day, she’d just been trying to work up the courage to say something about it, and now that she started, she wasn’t going to hold it back anymore. 

“I have never thought any of those things— you just assumed! You assumed I would think less of you because you stumble over words. I roll my eyes a lot, but I do it because I _like_ you. I like filling in people’s words and I did it a lot with you because I just… I thought we understood each other. I’ve never been around someone who I could talk to like you, and it was exciting to me.” She was full on crying at that point, tears streaming down her face, but she didn’t try to wipe them. Her anger was blocking her shame. “How could you think that I’m so awful? That I’d judge you for something that was _clearly_ not your fault? Or that I’d ever think you were horribly damaged?”

As she said the words she knew that this was the inevitable conclusion of this whole affair. Fitz had never liked _her_ from the beginning. Of course his trauma was escalating the situation, but it started with the fact that she wasn’t someone he thought highly of.

After a few of his sniffles and too long of a blank stare from him, he finally spoke. “I didn’t mean-”

She didn’t want to hear it. “And the fact that you’re upset with me and not Trip or Skye for talking about it just goes to show that _you_ are actually the one who has a problem with _me_.” The anger in her tone was fading, resignation replacing it instead. How could she have been so foolish and not accepted the truth from the beginning?

“It’s not that—I _am_ furious at them, but— it’s just what happened with Ward is private, and I don’t—I don’t want pity, alright? I—”

 “I don’t pity you, Fitz, I honestly don’t,” she was trying to speak calmly now, but she was sure he could hear the underlying nerves. “You’re a hero for being able to go through that. You really are, especially when you still trust in people after being betrayed by someone close to you. But you’re being unf-” her voice cracked for a moment, but then she continued, “-unfair trying to blame me for your own insecurity. I’m sorry for eavesdropping on the conversation, but that’s it— I haven’t done anything else wrong to make you think so little of me. God, I just-- I don't know why you hate me so much.” She buried her face in her hands.

 

\----------

Her words echoed in the elevator and right down into the pit of his stomach, the ever present thumping of his heart was no longer the loudest thing in the room.  He couldn’t look at her just then; even though once she looked up at him again he could feel staring at him, waiting.

He inhaled, keeping his eyes locked on his fingers. "I don't....” Fitz started softly. “I don't hate you, Jemma. I _don't_ ,” he emphasized when she scoffed, but he knew what a weak argument that was. The way he’d blown up at her was evident of that. Just the thought of Ward had him on edge, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from spitting out whatever slander was on the top of his head. But maybe that was the point; he was supposed to get it out. 

“I got stuck,” he said, focusing on his feet. “The pod they were supposed to take us up in wasn’t moving, and when we were swimming out…the-the door closed on my arm. My friend, Ward was there, he, uh… “ His breathing rate started to accelerate, but he kept going. He owed Jemma the explanation. She needed to know he didn’t hate her. “We were at the bottom of the ocean, and he … left. He was my best friend, and he didn’t even _try_ … It wasn’t even that there wasn’t enough time or oxygen for the both of us, he just… didn’t think I was worth it, I guess.”

He squeezed his eyes together, feeling overwhelmed with having just admitted that outloud. There was a shift in the elevator, her footsteps moving towards him, but he kept his eyes down.

 “And I know it’s no excuse. You’re right, Jemma. I’ve been insecure even before that. But him leaving me there...it made me think that, even with the things I did have to offer, I wasn’t good enough. And when we met….You had everything together. And I couldn’t even tell you my name properly. I felt like you were having a laugh, trying to fill in my words. I know that’s unfair, and I was wrong, but… I just wanted to prove to you that I could finish my own damn sentences. I could do that, at least.”

 When he finally tried to catch her eyes, it was only to have her drop her own. “Fitz, I told you…”

 “I know, I’m sorry. I was trying -- I just wanted to impress you, because I thought so _highly_ of you. But I am a shell of a person I used to be, and—”

“I don’t know who you were, before,” Jemma cut him off sharply, holding his gaze, “but frankly, I don’t need to. Because who are you, right now, is impressive to me.”

Fitz shook his head. “Jemma…”

“You are! You really are, Fitz. With the drones, and—”

“Jem— Jemma, you don’t have to—”

“ _Please_ just let me talk, alright? I am so tired of people talking over me or cutting me off. Especially you, because as much as we think alike, you’ve been getting on my nerves lately when you—”

“—willfully misinterpret you?” he said, hoping to atone at least a little with that joke.

She smiled at him, almost fondly, he hoped. “Fitz. You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met. And you know what? If I were Ward, I wouldn’t have left you there. I would have come up with a plan that got us both to the top,” she stated, and his jaw felt like it was mere inches from hitting the floor. Nobody had ever said that to him before and he knew what he needed to say to her now. “But, Fitz, I need some honesty.”

Somehow he managed to nod. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I think—”

 It took him a second to realize that Jemma hadn’t just jumped into his arms, but that the elevator had jolted again. He wrapped his arms around her as best as he could, her own arms awkwardly squashed against him, as the red light started flickering, before plunging them into darkness. They stood there for less than a moment before the elevator started to slowly move again.

The grating sound of metal upon metal scattered his thoughts, as the doors began to open, blinding light filling the lift. Within moments, their doorman appeared before them, tucking a crowbar under one arm, the other outstretched to them.

“C’mon you two, let’s get you out of here.”

 

\---

It was far more difficult to extract herself from Fitz’s arms, which shouldn’t have been a problem after he had released her. But she didn’t want to go. How ironic, she thought, glancing back at the empty elevator now that she and Fitz had scurried out of it, that she wanted to stay in there. 

“Thank you, Nick,” she said instead, grabbing her doorman’s hand to steady herself a little before brushing herself off.

 Beside her, Fitz nodded in agreement. “Yeah, don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come along.”

The doorman simply winked at them, which was an odd feat to behold, considering he only had one good eye. He went back to the doorway, where other worried tenants were returning home. Returning home…

She spun towards Fitz, but she didn’t have to turn too far. He was standing right behind her, his hands jammed into his pockets, looking restless and like he was holding his breath at the same time. She did, too, she realized.

 They seemed to have reached the bottom, in more than one sense. The only way now was up.

“I should, uh, get some food,” Fitz finally said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. And then, with a laugh added, “Don’t have anything in my fridge, really.”

“I do!” she blurted out. “Would you…uh… like to come over for some…” She checked her watch. “Dinner?”

Fitz’ face lit up in a grin and she felt herself tremble under his gaze.

“Let’s take the stairs this time?” she teased, and this time he rolled his eyes at her. 

She felt her phone buzzing in her pocket and she was sure it was Skye and Trip and Bobbi checking on her, but she didn’t bother to even look, instead clutching Fitz’s hand as they mounted the stairs, breathing heavily.

At last in front of her door, Jemma barely got her keys into the locks, her hands trembling from anticipation. 

“It means a lot to me that we’re friends again,” she blurted out as they stepped in. Fitz tilted his head slightly, and she wondered if she had overstepped again. “Well, neighbors, friendly neighbors…”

The intensity of Fitz’s stare scared her for a moment, but then he rasped out, closing the space between them. “Jemma,” he said softly, so very softly, “if I’m being honest now… you are so much more than that.” 

And then, there were no words between them. She stepped even closer to him, running her hand down his arm. Finally, everything she had wanted for so long, that she just realized she had wanted for so long, overtook her in one powerful wave. She lifted her hand from his arm, twisting her fingers into his collar, and pulled his mouth towards hers.

Fitz didn’t respond immediately, bewildered by her sudden gesture, but within a moment he pressed back against her, pushing her against the wall; she was surprised by his strength. She parted her lips, inviting his tongue into her mouth. It accepted, pushing past her teeth with a gentle, yet firm, insistence that triggered a faint tremor in her legs. She could feel her pulse pounding in her temples and throat, and other more obvious places. Her breath escaped in a tiny, almost soundless grunt, as he pushed her harder into the wall. Her breasts firm against his chest, she circled his neck with her arms. His hands slipped off her hips, reaching around to rest right above her buttocks. He moaned helplessly as she pressed her pelvis into his. She smiled, almost arrogantly, amidst their kiss.

He broke the kiss all of a sudden, staring at her as if in a stupor, giving her the chance to change her mind as he backed away slightly. She grabbed him by the hand instead, leading him directly to her bedroom, slamming the door behind them. He stood in the middle of the room, still uncertain, though his features were dark with arousal. She pressed herself against him again, sliding her hands up under his shirt across the bare skin of his belly to his chest. She shoved him down onto the mattress, onto his back.

 “Whoa,” Fitz gasped, surprised by her sudden onslaught, arms flailing out to slap against the mattress. She had a moment when he lay stunned beneath her, her hands clamping his chest, her knees jamming between his, spreading his legs. Then he made a sound, harsh, animal, from down low in his throat and he was pulling her face to his with one hand, fingers twisting hard into her hair. The other dragged her hips against his, nails digging into the flesh of her buttocks.

They wrestled each other out of their clothes, tossing them onto the floor of her room. She didn’t know why this felt so natural to her, especially since she knew how shocking this was for him. She could hear it in his ragged breaths, could feel it in his hyper-sharp responses to her touch. But he held nothing back, spurring her on, his hands and mouth hot and demanding on her skin. He uttered a soft, desperate moan as she took him in, arching up to push himself deeper inside.

Her climax, abrupt, unexpected, shook her through a series of sharp spasms, her cry muffled as she bit down on his shoulder. She paused a moment, catching her breath, licking lightly at the teeth marks. Then she rocked back, sitting up to gaze down at him. She still held him, hard and unfinished within herself, and she shifted her hips, settling him deeper.

He stared into her face, eyes wide and watchful, panting through parted lips, his body taut and quivering beneath her. She began rocking again, slow first, then faster, holding his gaze with hers, seeing the wildness there grow, as he kept himself fiercely in check, waiting, waiting for her. Sweet heat burst back to life, building with every thrust of her hips. She groaned, deep in her throat, and Fitz’s breath quickened, coming in harsh gasps. He set his hands, light and trembling, on her flexing thighs, his eyes glittering, holding himself rigid and still. Jemma picked up her pace, driving herself down on him, riding him hard. She brought herself right up to the edge, and she knew that he could see it in her face, that he teetered on the brink with her. But that he wouldn’t let himself fall unless she pushed him. Pupils huge and black, he stared into her eyes, chest heaving, waiting.

“Come with me, Fitz” she breathed. His eyelids fluttered, then his hips snapped up, his fingers clamping on her thighs, forcing her down onto him. A shout, an open-throated roar of surrender, erupted from him. His deep thrust ignited her own orgasm, flaring from her center outward, up her spine, blinding her in white ecstasy.

Then there were his hands, gentling her, stroking her back, and smoothing her hair from her face. She realized her own hands were moving on him, fingertips tracing lightly over his skin. Joints liquid, mind dazed by bliss, she let herself drift, aware of Fitz mostly as a welcome, anchoring weight. He tucked himself against her side, propped on an elbow. His own features veiled in shadow, he looked down at her, studying her face.

 “Fitz...” she sighed, fighting the desire to succumb to exhaustion. She'd rest a minute, catch her breath and collect her thoughts.

“Yeah, Jemma?” he replied, closed lips curving in a small smile. The sound of her name never sounded more wonderful to her. He bent over her, large palm, toasty warm, cupping her jaw. His face filled her vision, still blurry with the sweet, all-encompassing languor of her fall, and her eyes slid shut. A slow, gentle kiss pressed lightly on one lid, and then the other, and dark, enveloping sleep hauled her under.

She hadn’t realized they had fallen asleep, until a light snore from Fitz startled her. The sight of him sleeping next to her so peacefully tugged her lips into a wide smile. She knew there were so many reasons to not pursue this, that dating a neighbor created so many possible complications, especially with their now intertwined friend group. That they had spent so long being unable to communicate - how could they work together? But, as she watched him scrunch his nose in his sleep, she knew that they both knew, down to their cores that risk, that taking a chance and facing the consequences, wide-eyed, was the essence of life.

She curled up against his back, spooning him tightly as she dragged the covers over them both. Reaching around him to set her palm over his heart, she could feel him relaxing into her heat. She kissed his nape, then, lips brushing against his skin, she whispered, “You’re more than that too, Fitz.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the dearest lavendergaia for her amazing beta skills.


End file.
